


Switch up, Fall in

by headraline



Series: Detroit: Become Human Prompts [8]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: "Jesus Christ Connor!", Blood, Bottom Markus, Family Dynamics, Idiots in Love, Jericho crew - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, Minor Injuries, Minor OC - Freeform, Minor Violence, Prompted Writing, RK1000 - Freeform, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Top Connor, also there's kinda violence right off the bat so I guess that qualifies, android telepathy sex, body switch trope, just wait for Markus to meet Sumo, more tags to come, starting it straight off to mature so I can maneuver within it later, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-25 09:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15638247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: "Connor?! Connor!!!"He never pre-constructed so fast in his life.«RK800 core upload attempt initiated. Download core software and memories?»Markus closes his eyes and accepts the query; and just like that his core systems start a data dump to make space for the RK800 software and memories.He flops down next to Connor, idly wondering how he'll react to being in his body –but he's smart, he'll figure things out. At least he'll be alive.Hopefully, he will forgive Markus.





	1. Switching consciousness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RebelMage's prompt:  
>  _You know, if you're taking prompts... I just had an idea. It's silly and a bit out there, but...Body swap is a good trope. Imagine if Connor and Markus, like, did the android connecty thing, but there's some sort of... glitch or bug or something? Maybe due to both of them being prototypes from the same line? And it causes their consciousnesses to go into the other's body?_
> 
> I ran off with the idea a little. I made it more dramatic, arguably -it's the Markus in me.  
> It was supposed to be a two-shot, but my fingers were itching to post this. Still, I'll try not to go over a total of four chapters, because I have MORE prompts lined up after this.  
> So many fics, so little time! XD
> 
> Pls love me. <3
> 
> (EDIT: I linked Markus' outfit in the text because we're ALL lowkey thirsting after some of that and y'all need to see it!)

It surprises no one that Markus, leader of the peaceful android revolution and literal robot-messiah, eventually becomes the target of an assassination attempt.

Well, when it actually happens it surprises everyone, Markus himself included –so much so that he nearly _does_ get himself killed, had a very fast-reacting Connor not been there.

The RK800 yanks Markus to his chest by the arm and places himself as a shield between him and the unidentified shooter, taking two bullets in the back for him with exactly zero hesitation.

"Connor?! Connor!!!" Needless to say, when Markus feels the other's weight collapse in his arms, he topples down on his knees as well, panic striking his features and freezing the thirium coursing through his veins.

He never pre-constructed so fast in his life.

The response team is already incapacitating the shooter, Josh is sprinting towards them together with the emergency unit and the only useful thing _he_ can do is keep Connor in his arms and hope for the best.

_«_ _RK800 core upload attempt initiated. Download core software and memories?_ _»_

...or not.

He remembers Connor mentioning being set to upload his memories upon imminent death, to let the next Connor model take his place –that's obviously not a thing anymore, since Markus was adamant about androids _not_ being expendable, but he guesses hold habits die hard.

A million questions run through his processors at once –is Connor really dying? Is this it? Can he still save the detective? The query appeared on his interface for a reason; as an RK model himself he's compatible enough to accept Connor's soul into him... it'd be almost poetic, if only it wasn't a matter of life or death and happening in literally a handful of seconds, thirium quite literally flowing down his hands.

Connor was –is, Markus won't let him die here— a huge help to the revolution, after he broke free from his program, and it’s thanks to him that so many androids walked free on the day of the march.

Markus can still remember him, so lost and yet so determined as they stared each other down for the very first time... then the weight lifting off his shoulders as he broke through, the panic at the thought of being followed, everything happening at once –much like today— until he straight up offered himself as a sacrificial lamb in the abandoned church after the raid... everything about Connor was extraordinary, and it had nothing to do with being a prototype and everything to do with him being _Connor_. Markus finds the time to smile –he can’t lie to himself, Connor had him at _"I won't hesitate to shoot."_

When it all boils down to the choice, Markus takes one look at his interface and all the messages blaring on it –the most prominent of all being the status of Connor's prone form in his arms: "Danger – shutdown imminent"... help is coming and there's a good chance they'll make it in time, but... the countdown is running. It isn't a chance he's willing to take. He closes his eyes and accepts the query; and just like that his core systems start a data dump to make space for the RK800 software and memories.

He flops down next to Connor, idly wondering how he'll react to being in his body –but he's smart, he'll figure things out. At least he'll be alive.

Hopefully, he will forgive Markus.

"Markus!!" Josh shouts as he sees him go down,

"Is he hurt?!" Simon asks as they both leap in and check both androids over,

"No, but I think he's in shock!" The other replies, making quick work of the worst of the RK800's injuries, "I've replaced Connor's thirium pump, he's not out of the woods yet but he's good to be moved, let's go!"

Everything goes black after that.

 

_»_ _System reboot..._

_»_ _..._

_»_ _Status: operational._

_»_ _Self-scan initiated._

_»_ _…_

_»_ _Core systems: 62% - **Damage detected. Software instability detected.**_

_»_ **_Biocomponents #465B02 and #465C04 damaged._ ** _Self-repair initiated._

_»_ _Sound unit: 100%_

_»_ _Optical unit: 100%_

_»_ _Motor functions: 94% - **calibration needed**._

 

Huh. Markus blinks the diagnostic away from his interface –that's weird, though, his optical unit has been stuck at 99.4% functionality ever since he had to shove a replacement eye into his face—

 _Wait_.

He replays his last memory –the public speech he was giving, the assassination attempt... Connor taking the bullets for him, thirium on his hands as he held him, thinking that he just _had_ to do something—

The memory upload. His own system making the data dump.

Josh and Simon must have been able to save Connor's body, and as the nearest RK model it took the data dump as an upload itself, since Connor's core was going to him.

Well, shit. He inadvertently switched bodies with Connor.

"Connor?" Josh calls, in front of him, "Connor, you've got a visitor... are you okay?"

"What kind of a shit question is that?!" An unfamiliar voice grumbles, "He just got shot at!!!"

Just then, the real Connor finishes waking up, sitting up from where he was lying and holding out a hand. "I'm okay, Hank..."

"You're not okay!!!" The Lieutenant doesn't immediately register that it's not coming from the right android, "You took two bullets in the back, you nearly died!!! You— you're not Connor."

Impressively fast, for someone who cannot run scans on others. He guesses there really _is_ something in the way he looks at people. Not to mention that even if they may have completely switched bodies, their posture, mannerisms and demeanor came with them.

Markus's body is sitting up straight, prim and proper; while Connor's figure is hunched over, legs wide and elbows perched on his knees. They're about as different as night and day.

"Okay. I don't care who it comes from, but I want an explanation in the next three seconds."

"Three seconds is plenty of time for an android to—"

Hank points a finger in the direction of what looks like Markus. "Ok, _you're_ definitely Connor. Now explain or shut up."

Mismatched eyes lower in embarrassment –and oh, it's so frustrating! The right eye is imperceptibly out of axis and the 1/64th of a second of delay in movement is already driving Connor _insane_. How does Markus live with this?! "I'm... I'm afraid I can't, Hank. The last thing I remember is thinking I was going to die and instinctively uploading my memories..."

Markus clears his voice –well, Connor's voice— and mercifully takes over. "I can take it from there." He says, feeling definitely exposed while out of the comfort of his own body, on top of… everything else, "When I realized what happened... I saw you go down and I thought you were going to die— you _were_ going to die... then an upload query popped up on my interface; and I... panicked. It was a way to save you, if nothing else."

North crosses the infirmary room in three quick strides and bonks Markus on the head. "You moron!!!"  She exclaims, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

It's a rare sight to see Markus's face rendered speechless, and it only makes sense to see it happen when there's another person behind it.

"Why..." Connor has to clear his voice, the settings and pitch feel too unfamiliar –on top of the words choking on his throat at the thought of Markus giving up his whole self for him. "Why would you do that?"

Markus shrugs his shoulders, not quite willing to expose his feelings in this situation. "I couldn't just let you die."

"Markus, my life is not more valuable than  yours!!!"

"Pot calling the kettle black, much?" He retorts, unable to help the slight smile, "You just took two bullets for—"

"For the living, walking symbol of hope and freedom for all android kind? Yes! I did! And I'll _happily_ do it a hundred times over!"

By this point, Lieutenant Anderson is looking back and forth between Markus and Connor –the guys have heard this song and dance before, Markus trying to get Connor to be more careful with himself and the detective throwing the supposedly 'greater good' back at him, along with Markus's own terrible track record in terms of self-preservation. Case in point: giving up _his whole self_ to save a dying android.

Hank seems to reach a conclusion, in the following silence, and Markus finds himself on the receiving end of a hard stare. He gets an irrational, cold dread running down his spine as the thought runs through his head: the Lieutenant knows.

Or, at the very least, he suspects that there's a deeper reason for Markus to blindly sacrifice himself like that. From what Connor told him, Hank Anderson is somewhat of a father figure to the RK800 and he’s— well. If Anderson _knows_ , Markus has the definite feeling that he is _fucked_.

Josh snaps him out of his reverie with a sigh: "Oh, this'll be a nightmare to keep under wraps."

He's not wrong. They can't exactly televise what happening with an ‘oops’ and decree that their android messiah will have a different face until further notice.

Also they can't give the perpetrators the satisfaction of knowing exactly how close to killing Markus they actually came.

"What's the matter, can't you guys switch right back?"

Connor goes to run a hand through his hair... only to remember Markus keeps his head shaved. "Not immediately, Hank." He says, meekly lowering his hand back down, "My body is performing self-repair and Markus' system has attached itself to the task. Plus... me going into his body was a clean and successful upload. He ended up into mine as a result of a data dump –his functions need to be recalibrated and he needs to wait and recover before he attempts to upload himself anywhere else, lest he loses pieces of his core coding."

That's a lot of big words and pseudo-technical talk to say that Markus got majorly fucked up while playing martyr. Again. Hank levels a look to his android son. "That it?"

Connor seems to ponder it. "It's probably for the best that I also make sure my own software is not missing any lines and reorganize my memories and functions properly before the next upload."

The Lieutenant guesses it's fair, even as he heaves a long, suffering sigh. "And how long is this whole shenanigan gonna take?"

Markus clears his voice again, still unfamiliar with Connor's tone and pitch. "My software is displaying six days, four hours and thirteen minutes as the estimated time of completion."

Connor smiles in relief, and already it looks a bit more familiar on Markus' face. "That'll be more than enough time for me to be ready as well."

"Um, excuse me, am I the only one concerned about the fact that you have to _live in each other’s body for a week?!_ " North's voice rises steadily until it's a shout at the very last two words, but Simon is already patting her back to calm her down.

"It's okay..." he tries, already thinking about possible solutions, "They can... coach each other about what to do, stay in an open call as long and as often as possible."

Not ideal in terms of privacy, but doable.

Markus and Connor look at each other. Knowing it's entirely his fault, Markus feels the need to try and make himself smaller, hunching his shoulders and offering a tentative smile to his own face. Connor returns the smile, and moves to stand with a nod.

"Then it's settled, Markus will follow you to the precinct, while I—" Connor promptly falls on his face, having tripped on one of the denim straps dangling from Markus' jeans.

It takes a good deal of self-control not to laugh at... well, himself. "What the hell is [this,](https://78.media.tumblr.com/50138788bc97b6c4c1eb286fd3a230ac/tumblr_pa23mnD7pC1rpzs4io2_1280.jpg) Markus?"

Holding in the laughter gets harder and harder upon hearing Connor's positively outraged tone. "...a pair of jeans?"

"No, Markus. _That_ is a pair of jeans." Connor objects, pointing a finger at Hank's legs, " _This_ is a _trip hazard_. How do you even—" he gets back up, making sure to be mindful of where his feet are this time, "You _parkour_ your way around rooftops! How have you not tumbled to your death yet?!" North isn't even pretending to contain her giggles anymore as Connor grows more and more indignant at Markus' clothes, despite never once having complained about it when he looked at them from the outside, and he goes for the long, dark jacket next: "I mean, what even is this?! Why does it need more straps? You don't mind if I make a _few_ minor changes to your appearance, do you?"

Markus is not quite sure what's happening, but he nods, not quite able to keep the laughter out of his voice. "Be my guest."

" _Thank you_." Sarcasm dripping from those two words, Connor swiftly undoes the straps and takes off the overcoat, ripping off the scarf next and then going for the various denim belts and straps all over his trousers.

It's the silence that makes him stop: he suddenly realizes, with overwhelming clarity, that he's undressing himself –no, he's undressing _Markus' body_ — in a roomful of people.

Connor freezes, for several reasons. Not in the least the presence of his commanding officer, not to mention the owner of the body himself. This is _beyond_ inappropriate.

"No, no, don't stop on our account." North quips, amusement all but splitting her face in a grin, "You're doing a service to androids and humans alike."

Markus nearly goes blue in the face, as thirium rushes around faster to clear the interface of all the emotional reactions and prompts. "North, please!!!"

She just throws her head back in laughter. Connor is confused, on top of being mortified.

“Welp, this has gone on long enough.” Hank eventually decrees. “If there’s really nothing more to be done, let’s just go, Connor. Or, uh, Markus. Look, I’ll just call you kid. That alright?”

Markus nods, ruffling his own hair and loosening his tie as he stands up –before stopping short when he happens to catch his reflection in a mirror. He shakes his head and tries to focus in Hank. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

There’s something damningly knowing but slightly gentler than the look from before on Hank’s face as he turns around “I’m sure we’ll all see each other real soon anyway.”

And so begins Markus and Connor’s week in each other’s shoes.

 

Connor gets ushered into Markus’ quarters in the New Jericho –he’s not surprised when they turn out to be more austere than people would imagine. It is quite a cozy place, it has its own shower and there’s space for both an easel and a piano, but there’s no extravagant or excessive décor.

“Here, you can grab a change of clothes, since you’re tripping all over those ones.” Josh offers, pointing at Markus’ closet. He doesn’t mention that those clothes are also still dripping with Connor’s own spilled thirium. “People will want a statement tomorrow, but Markus will tell you what to do; and you’ll also be able to coordinate with Simon.”

“Thank you, Josh.” Connor isn’t quite aware of the soft smile on his face as he looks around –he can’t help it: the whole room is so undeniably _Markus_ that it actually feels like the RK200 is still here and not back at the police station with Hank.

Josh regards him with a smile of his own: “Keep that face up and you’ll fool everyone into thinking you’re the real Markus.”

Left alone in the welcoming silence of the room, Connor shakes his head and makes quick work of divesting himself. He opens the dresser to grab a change of clothes and, for the second time in one day, stops short –the inside of the panel has a mirror, and his reflection his staring back at him.

It’s by far not the first time he sees a naked body, heavens know he’s had more than his fair share of exposed skin at the Eden Club, and yet… he can’t look away. He is rooted on the spot, gazing back into mismatched eyes and stuck in a strange loop –his interface is _screaming_ at him not to look, because it’s a violation of Markus’ most basic right to privacy, and yet… he cannot bring himself to discard and delete the curious options to look around.

Eventually unable to take it anymore, he sends a call to Markus. _«What should I do about nudity?»_

The response is fast and somewhat funny: _«I hope you’ll be happy to hear that you just made me walk into a glass door.»_ at least Markus is not as unfazed as he tried very hard to seem. It makes the RK800 feel less alone in this. _«What about nudity?»_

 _«They told me to change clothes.»_ Connor explains, _«I’m in your room right now, but I didn’t want to violate your right to privacy by undressing without consulting you.»_ He technically did undress, but he’s not _looking_. It’s a little white lie.

 _«I… thank you for being that considerate, but don’t worry about it, Connor.»_ Markus says, after just a moment’s hesitation, _«I doubt there’s anything you haven’t already seen, and from a preliminary scan we’ve got the exact same hardware and a similar enough chassis.»_

_«Okay. Thank you, Markus.»_

_«Anytime. Oh, and if there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable about me doing while in your body, feel free to tell me.»_

Typical Markus, always putting others first. _«I’ll tell you if anything comes to mind.»_

The call ends, and already it put the smile back on Connor’s face –that’s just the effect Markus has on people, he puts them at ease, makes them feel safe and cared for with just a few words and a flick of the eyes. How is he supposed to pretend to be _that_?

He supposes he will have to, and their friends will help him keep the persona up long enough. Blessings about nudity obtained from his temporary body’s owner, Connor does take a good look at himself. And once he does, he can’t seem to tear his gaze away.

Prototype or not, he can’t help but ask himself: why would a patient caretaker android be designed to be more attractive than any sex bot Connor has ever laid eyes upon? Elijah Kamski’s mind will forever be a mystery to the RK800.

Markus has always had the barest hint of freckles on his face, but now Connor can see that he’s also got some smattered across his chest and shoulders –there’s probably a few of them behind his upper back as well. Then there’s also the color of his skin. Darker than the predominant Caucasian white, but not quite black either. Just shy of the color mocha, a light bronze that looks taken straight out of a summer holiday brochure; something that makes you think of a hot sun in the middle of the day.

Connor shakes himself out of the daze he had fallen in when he feels his own thumb graze his clavicle.

Androids don’t have a built-in sex drive. Androids _don’t_ experience desire just for the sake of it.

…so why is it so hard to look away?

Not finding a satisfactory answer anywhere in his systems, he archives the query and makes quick work of selecting a pair of trousers he won’t trip over and a shirt and coat that do not reach below his ankles.

 

Back at the DPD station, Markus is not having a much easier time –after walking into the door that Hank simply let go behind himself, thinking he would catch it, he had to sit through a recounting of the event and explain why he thought it was a good idea to take two bullets to the back. The technical explanation is easy: the shots came too suddenly and too close to each other, there was no time to reach a proper cover and it was a matter of choice. As for a reason to sacrifice himself… Markus chooses to repeat Connor’s own words about sacrificing himself to keep alive the person that means so much to androids all across the nation.

He sounds credible enough to Fowler, who accepts his words and grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “Just file the damn report and don’t get destroyed.”

But then Markus finds himself in front of someone Connor never talked to him about:

“So the plastic prick is playing hero, too, now?” Gavin Reed, a scan of his face reveals.

No major offenses before or during his career, but quite a few disciplinary reports, especially in recent times and especially against androids. Something about the tone he’s using with Markus –well, ‘Connor’–doesn’t sit well with him. Like this guy thinks he can get away with it just because he’s talking shit to an android.

 _‘Sorry buddy, but the last time someone was a dick to me like this, I started a revolution.’_ Markus thinks, squaring his shoulders with a smirk, _‘You won’t last a second in the ring with me.’_

He arches a brow at the human coming towards him, and already he sees Reed’s sneer falter slightly.

“Really?” he asks, glad for Connor’s polite angel voice giving his sass all the more weight, “I thought saving lives was still considered doing my job. You know, like the one _you’re_ also paid to do.”

Gavin is taken aback, but it only lasts a second and he crowds in his personal space –Markus sees Lieutenant Anderson tense at his side. So this is a regular occurrence. He feels the thirium in his veins almost boil, while the other detective grabs him by the hem of the jacket. “What? So you think getting your synthetic ass shot down makes you a better detective than others? Is that it, you stupid piece of plastic?”

Markus hardens his stare, not relenting one inch. Even if he _wasn’t_ harbouring secret feelings for Connor, he wouldn’t let this motherfucker get away with this. “I think… it takes a particular kind of person to put yourself between someone and an assault rifle; and that you feel intimidated and inadequate about _me_ being that kind of person and you being… clearly not.”

“Ouch.” Hank mutters under his breath, and it’s about all it takes for Gavin to throw a punch.

Markus doesn’t dodge it and he doesn’t retaliate, but he does grab the offending appendage and holds it there. He tightens his grip until he sees the man grit his teeth in pain before he speaks, a definite finality in his voice: “You can throw your fists around all you like and feel like a big man; I understand that humans have such problems about feeling manlier or more powerful, and that it’s linked to some deep rooted sort of insecurity about the size of your genitals…” he starts, and already Gavin’s face gets even angrier, but he carries on mercilessly as he still holds the man’s fist _tight_ to the point of white-knuckling him; “But I have a sad truth for you: whether or not I let you push me around, whether or not you can punch an android –or a human— until they crumble… you’re still _nothing_. Your life amounts to _nothing_ , because even though you’re a detective, you do _sweet fuck all_ to _actually_ , really help humankind. So go ahead, Detective Reed, throw your punches.” He brusquely releases the man’s hand, taking him off-guard and making him stumble back, “At the end of the day, I’ll still be faster and stronger than you _without_ having to pull my pants down… and you’ll still be _meaningless_.”

Lieutenant Anderson is looking at him in a mixture of awe, hilarity and shock. “Holy shit.”

That is how you destroy a man without having to lay one finger on him.

Gavin has already had ample time to strike again… and yet he doesn’t. He opens his mouth, seemingly to say something… closes it again, then clenches his fists and turns away. “Fuck this.” He snaps; and he goes back to his own desk without another word.

Markus takes a long, deep breath that he doesn’t need.

He will forever deny it, but god _damn_ , that felt good. He turns towards Lieutenant Anderson and fixes his tie. “Too much?”

“Not even remotely.” Hank assures, going as far as hiding a chuckle and patting him on a shoulder, “Trust me, kid, piece of shit deserved that.”

Markus allows himself a tiny, sly smile, and the Lieutenant looks taken aback for a moment –possibly because it’s easy to forget he’s not Connor when everything about him _looks_ like Connor.

“Let’s just get back to work.”

That’s when the RK200 feels the need to call Connor. _«On the subject of privacy, what do you want me to do with case-sensitive information and files?»_

There’s a small bout of silence, likely Connor pondering his options, before the reply comes: _«Just save them in a temporary log to be deleted in eight days, that’ll give us both time to see whether they get transferred with the upload or left behind, and proceed accordingly.»_

 _«Okay.»_ Markus starts poring over the reports, but he doesn’t close the call.

From the other side of the line, the RK800 notices. _«…yes, Markus?»_

 _«How are you holding up?»_ he finds himself asking, suddenly bashful about the whole thing, _«This is really all my fault.»_

 _«Oh, Markus…»_ if Markus could see Connor, the other android would probably be shaking his head at him, _«What you did is a wonderful, selfless thing. So selfless that it’s staggering to even fathom. I… still can’t understand why you’d see fit to sacrifice yourself like that for me, but I know I’m lucky my body at all survived, and that we’re both still here so I can thank you properly.»_

The RK200 feels his mind steer into a much, much different territory when a consideration slips through his interface that his idea of Connor thanking him ‘properly’ is probably quite different from what his impromptu double might be thinking.

This is most definitely _not_ the time, place, or _person_. Connor has likely no idea of his feelings and probably wouldn’t reciprocate them even if he did know. _«Well… for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the whole body-switching thing, but I don’t regret accepting the query. And I’d do it again.»_

 _«I don’t doubt you would.»_ this time, the smile is so evident in Connor’s tone that Markus can hear it. _«Have a good day at work. Call me if you get sent on a crime scene, I’ll look for clues by your side.»_

_«Will do.»_

Markus closes the call still feeling the grin split his lips, but Lieutenant Anderson plopping down on the edge of his desk nearly makes him jump out of his synthetic skin –his proximity sensor, optical unit and sound unit picked up on all of the human’s movements, but his core brain was still daydreaming about Connor’s voice in his head, even though it sounded like his own, and so there was a bit of lag in registering Hank’s presence.

It might also have something to do with his motor skills being at sub-optimal level –he’ll need to ask Connor what exactly ‘calibration needed’ means. But first things first. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

Hank fixes on him the same sort of _look_ he got when he first realized the length he went to in order to make sure Connor survived. “Don’t get cute with me, kid, out with it.”

Markus considers his options.

_» Lie_

_» Truth_

_» Diffuse_

He shakes his head to himself for a second, thinking someone who knows Connor well enough to tell them apart at first sight wouldn’t be easily fooled. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well. Not at first.” Hank concedes with a half shrug, “But where I come from, there’s only two kinds of people you can straight up _delete yourself_ for. Family, or…”

“…or a loved one.” Markus can’t quite look the man in the eyes, not while he’s wearing Connor’s.

The Lieutenant shakes his head. “And he’s got no clue, of fucking course.” He mutters, almost more to himself than to Markus. “How long?”

“A while.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between them, and only then does Markus look up to meet Hank’s gaze. “Listen, Lieutenant, I know this is… less than ideal, for you.”

“Understatement.” the man conments, catching himself when it becomes clear the RK200 isn’t done yet. “Sorry. Do carry on.”

Markus nods gratefully and does just that. “But you have to understand… Connor had just been _shot right before my eyes._ ” It still feels raw, it did only happen a few hours ago, and Markus feels his voice tremble as he recalls the memory. “As androids, we see everything in numbers. I could feel his life slipping through my fingers by the _millisecond_ , and I—” he catches himself mid-sentence, and Hank’s expression has changed from annoyed to genuinely shocked, “I just _had_ to do something, anything— then the upload query appeared and… it was a way to save him.” He finishes, somewhat lamely, as he opens his eyes back up. “If his body didn’t make it, he could… take over mine. I couldn’t let him die— not like that. Not for me.”

It’s only their first day together, and already Markus has rendered Hank Anderson speechless twice.

“…shit, son. You’d do that for him? Just like that?”

The RK200 nods. “Just like that.”

Hank says nothing more, but he does lean forward to hug Markus. It reminds him of easier times, back at Carl’s –he closes his eyes without thinking.

Maybe he can up the count of _actually decent human beings_ that he knows personally from one to two.

It’s good to know Connor will have family like this to come back to, once everything is over.


	2. Making it work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> «Markus, are you comforting the perpetrator?»
> 
> «She's clearly traumatized!» 
> 
> «At least tell me you're not hugging her in front of the other officers.»
> 
> «...no.»
> 
> «You're a terrible liar.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING: MENTION OF PAST ABUSE.** I'll update the tags immediately, but in the meantime, read at your own discreton. It's nothing too graphic, but still. Steering on the safe side.
> 
> That being said...  
> I may or may not be having a little too much fun with this.
> 
> Next chapter will have more Jericho crew and more body-swap shenanigangs, the tone should be much much more light-hearted, especially because they'll happen to be in the same place again, with everything that ensues.
> 
> Hopefully I'll get it out in a couple of days, if not... please be patient! I'm by the seaside right now and only write when I'm not out to the beach! ;)
> 
> Enjoy ♥

Living in a body that is not your own is, Connor discovers, immensely infuriating. His software is just compatible enough with the RK200 hardware to work, but not quite 100% seamless. Which results in disturbances in his balance and motor functions, aggravated by the miniscule off-percentage in his optical unit functionality –he guesses Markus learned to compensate and optimize himself around it, but he can’t seem to be able to set a decent parameter for the life of him.

On top of that, there’s having to keep his own personality under control: he would have loved to say he hopes the fucker who tried to shoot Markus down rots in jail with a cellmate named Buffalo-fucking-Bill, but no. He was supposed to speak as the ever pacifist _robot-messiah_ , so he had to make do with saying that ‘the people of Jericho condemn acts of gratuitous violence but understand that being different brings forth fear and diffidence’ and that ‘he is open to any sort of dialogue people are willing to have to learn more about androids, so that peace becomes more than just a word on the mouths of the hopeful’.

He had to physically restrain himself from shaking his head, but he did send a _«Seriously, Markus?»_ to his remote counterpart. _«You’re basically bullshitting your way out of voicing your actual opinion.»_

 _«You tell me,_ detective _…»_ Markus had answered, teasing coming light and easy as they spoke into each other’s mind, _«You’re the one who insisted on tracing my speech pattern for most of the night.»_

Connor can vividly recall that too. It seemed like a good idea, just to have a good frame of reference to look and sound like Markus himself; _without_ having to rely constantly on the RK200 to put words in his mouth. So he spent the entire night listening to Markus talk about anything and everything under the sun –starting with the literal weather and ending up at Plato, somehow, passing through discussing some of his favorite artists from the 1700s and his thoughts on the heavy metal music Hank likes so much.

The surprising thing in all of that being that Connor actually enjoyed every second of it. There’s just something about listening to Markus speak –once you get him started, you could listen to him for hours on end… and now the RK800 has proof that it’s not just in the smooth, velvety quality of his voice: even with Connor’s much less exotic tone, Markus was able to absolutely captivate him, summoning images and thoughts from within him so vividly that Connor felt he could see them before his very eyes.

Then again, Connor guesses, Markus is _always_ able to captivate him –it took the RK200 all of three minutes and twenty-four seconds to entice Connor into becoming a deviant… granted, he was already compromised, but within those three and a half minutes he was ready to ride or die for Markus at the drop of a hat.

Connor may not yet be too adjusted to the concept of feelings as a whole, but he is a good enough detective to know when a crush is spelled out for him.

He mistook it for gratitude and seamless admiration at first, when Markus not only helped him break free, but instantly forgave him for trying to kill them all and accidentally bringing forth the human raid to the first Jericho… the words he spoke to Connor in the abandoned church were the first ever nice words _anyone_ ever spoke to him without an ulterior motive. They gave him the uncontrollable urge to prove himself that resulted in miraculously freeing the androids at the Cyberlife assembly plant.

Eventually, gratitude had become a pale motivator for Connor to pay so much _attention_ to Markus –not only what he said and did, but the way he spoke, whom he spoke to, how warmly or coldly… then, after a while, even just the light hitting his face or the movement of his lips. He can still clearly remember the moment he took the bullets: they had been _very_ close just before he fell to the ground, and he was ready to die without knowing how those lips tasted.

But he didn’t die. Thanks to Markus himself and the fast intervention of their friends, he’s still alive to wonder –and the deeper, more shameful confirmation of how deep his feelings for the revolution leader run came on the very day he woke up in the other’s body; it was in the way he couldn’t tear his eyes off or keep his hands to himself.

Androids _do not_ possess a sex drive, Connor knows it for a fact. They _do not need_ sexual intercourse, not even while being built for it, and they can live perfectly functional lives without ever even thinking about having sex.

However, sexual desire becomes a possibility if the desire for a romantic or emotional connection becomes strong enough.

And he _wants_ Markus. He wants, he desires, he lusts after him so bad it makes his head spin whenever he catches his reflection in a mirror; and he has to shut down several rather inappropriate sub-routines, especially considering Markus was right, the two of them are… similarly equipped.

Connor snaps himself out of his layered remembrances when he feels his own hand toy with the waistband of his jeans. Day two and _already_ his hands are wandering again!

 _«How’s it going?»_ the very subject of his fantasies asks.

It won’t help to subject himself to more good-natured teasing, but it will at least be a distraction from the direction his own thoughts were taking. _«This is mind-numbingly boring. How do you sit through these broadcasts and_ smile _?!»_

 _«Oh, you know… I find ways to… entertain myself.»_ Definitely not helping, Markus! _«Slip in the occasional absurd answer to see how long it takes the humans to pick up on it or how long they let made up stuff go on to avoid admitting ignorance.»_ Ooooh… that’s what he meant with ‘entertaining’ himself. That makes _much more sense_.

 _«You’re telling me I can mess with these people?»_ Connor feels a smile tug at his lips at the thought –yes, that’s how the RK200 does it.

On the other end of the line, Markus chuckles. _«You have my full permission to mess with any people. Just don’t hurt anybody, and put them out of their misery eventually.»_

Connor didn’t think it was possible to _hear_ a wink, but Markus has always been capable of doing the craziest things.

Dialogue options immediately updated and re-evaluated, Connor manages to throw a positively charming smile in the interviewer's direction as they speak to him. "So, we've opened our lines to audience questions and they're filtering in... how about I read some of them to you?"

"Sure, yeah." Tracing Markus' speech pattern was definitely a good idea. Connor can almost see himself from the outside and this looks and sounds like the real, honest to god robot-messiah.

The interviewer carries on. "Okay, the first one: _'I've seen androids drink that blue goo... do androids need to eat? If so, what’?_ "

"Well." Connor says, not bothering to conceal the mirth in his mismatched eyes, "We don't strictly need to, but it is good for us. As for what... helicopter engines. I love grinding up some copters into flakes and eat them in spoonfuls for breakfast."

He can hear Markus struggling to contain his giggles on the other end of the line.

The interviewer is sceptical. "...helicopter engines?"

"What? I'm a big boy, I need my nourishment."

 _«_ _Please take a picture of Simon's face right now!!!_ _»_ Well, at least Markus is also having fun with this. Truth to be told, the PL600 looks outraged, and Connor sees him mouth something like 'oh no, there's two of them' to North where they stand on the sidelines. Obviously the joke eventually lands, and Connor patiently explains the difference between human food consumption and thirium intake. More questions come and go, but eventually it gets personal, as it was bound to do: "Lastly, there's one about your WR400 friend—"

" _North_. Her _name_ is North." Connor clarifies coldly, without even having to be prompted by Markus.

The interviewer is visibly flustered by the blunder, but he smiles and carries on. "Ah, yes, North. Sorry about that. It's a bit gossipy, but you can't blame people for being curious. Are you two involved? Is she your girlfriend?"

Connor fights the urge to roll his eyes, but it dawns on him: he doesn't know the answer to this question. Thirium in his veins runs cold -he never even thought about the chances of Markus already being involved as he shamelessly fantasized about him while inhabiting his body, and he suddenly feels like an invasive asshole, but... he has to answer, so he has to ask. _«_ _Markus...?_ _»_

 _«_ _No._ _»_ Comes the answer, gentle and only slightly exasperated, like it's been asked before, _«_ _She is a good friend and one of my most treasured advisors, but she definitely wouldn't put up with me as a partner._ _»_

Connor relays the answer verbatim, and the interviewer chuckles. "How so?"

"I have my flaws. Like a strong tendency to get myself damaged and otherwise in trouble." Connor is keeping the call open and subtly hinting at Markus to maybe _stop it with that_. "But even without all of that... I haven't asked, and she's not interested. In an ideal world, that'd be reason enough. For an android _or_ a human alike."

_«_ _I'm so proud of you right now._ _»_

From the looks of it, so is North –she is discreetly clapping from her post.

The interview closes off more or less smoothly, and Connor can eventually relax back in the New Jericho building.

_«_ _How are things going on your side?_ _»_

_«_ _...well enough for now._ _»_

That is to say, Markus was out of his mind with glee when the Lieutenant brought him home last night and introduced him to Sumo, and a good fifteen minutes of their call last evening was about the dog and how much of a good boy he was, then the RK200 found himself with nothing to do after both canine and human fell asleep... so he took to wandering around the house. He caught himself in a mirror, and a slightly more roguish and dishevelled visage than the usual Connor stared back at him. Markus ran his hand through the messy brown curls to fix them slightly... and promptly he imagined how it would feel to run his own, real hands through Connor's hair. He immediately smoothed himself out and dropped his hands –he _refuses_ to take advantage; he _refuses_ to do _anything_ to Connor's body that may be for his own, selfish desire rather than for survival and comfort.

Come morning, he had quite the awkward conversation with the Lieutenant.

He asked to use the shower, and Hank sent him a downright mortifying look. "What do you exactly need a shower for?"

Markus had to take a breath he didn't need, before he answered: "Technically you could clean me with a garden hose and it wouldn't make a difference, but a shower is slightly more dignified." He answered, fighting not to  falter at the man's amused smirk, "My… father, he had a whole room for me and it came with a shower. I got used to it. I guess I was spoiled, as far as androids go."

Hank seemed to accept his answer –Markus even saw something like guilt marring the Lieutenant's figure, like he was chastising himself for never having thought about that— and the RK200 took what was arguably the fastest shower of his life, after getting remote approval from Connor. _«_ _Since we talked about nudity, it might be a good time to mention that I have the habit of showering. That ok?_ _»_

The RK800's answer was slightly delayed, but ultimately affirmative. _«_ _Oh? Well go right ahead. I wouldn't want to keep you from washing yourself._ _»_

 

Back to the here and now, Markus is sitting at Connor's desk, going over files and reports. It's tedious, but not rocket science so far. It is indeed going well enough, but… _«_ _My motor skills are still not up to 100% and it's driving me nuts. Are you experiencing any adjustment issues?_ _»_

 _«_ _You mean aside from the botched optical unit and resulting misaligned balance parameters?_ _»_ comes from Connor, sarcastic but amused all the same, _«_ _I'm serious, Markus, I don't know how you optimized these margins, I tried pre-constructing a route today but I couldn't compute it, it would have ended with me plummeting to my death._ _»_

The thought of Connor being confused by less than perfect numbers is nothing short of adorable. _«_ _You have to factor in that subtle margin of error as a core variable, rather than a malfunction. The numbers won't quite match up perfectly, but there's enough wiggle room for performance optimization._ _»_ Connor's little 'oh' sound just about melts Markus' soul, despite coming from his own voice. He needs to change the subject before he openly coos at the other. _«_ _Speaking of... what the hell does 'calibration needed' mean? It's been blaring at me since I woke up!_ _»_

It's Connor's turn to laugh –Markus balks slightly at the thought of the RK800 finding him endearingly stupid, but he listens to the detective's answer regardless:  _«_ _It's a process to fine-tune my hand-eye and resynch my motor skills... I also find it comforting._ _»_ And oh, the small confession makes Markus' thirium pump regulator almost stutter in place –he's glad for Connor to be willing to share that with him... the technical side he had to explain for both their sakes... admitting to an emotional attachment to the process is a secret they now share. _«_ _I'll tell you what to do: ask Hank to give you a quarter..._ _»_

Seventy-two seconds later, Markus is doing coin tricks under Lieutenant Anderson's amused gaze. He's willing to bet he's not as polished and seamless as the real Connor, what with the body carrying a slightly different software –which causes a near imperceptible but still very much there lag in all motions— but his performance is still well above human dexterity.

Also, concentrating on the coin is indeed realigning some of the most messed up parameters in his hand-eye, making the projection lines match up more and more to the current ones; and the repetitive motion is indeed soothing the software instability that was running amok until just now.

Then Markus misses the catch while switching the coin from one hand to the other, and the quarter flies into the opposite wall, embedding itself in the plaster like a bullet.

Well. Connor is, apparently, not only stronger than he looks, but also stronger than it feels. Markus has to push back several emotional and physical responses that come with this realization.

Hank all but bursts out laughing, but as luck would have it, that's the moment they receive the report for a murder and have to go. _«_ _Things are about to get exciting. Ready to solve a murder remotely?_ _»_

 _«_ _You discount yourself._ _»_ Connor assures, _«_ _I'm sure I'll only have to explain the basics to you and you'll take right off._ _»_

They arrive at the scene and already Hank shakes his head at how much of a bleeding heart Markus is -he has to stop him from leaning over and closing the victim's eyes, frozen open as they were.

 _«_ _Scan the victim for clues first, so you don't have to look at him anymore._ _»_ Had it not been during the examination of a murder, Markus would feel flattered at Connor considering his sensibilities. _«_ _Look for cause of death, blood type, identifiable wounds that can tell what the murder weapon was if any, the presence of drugs and so on..._ _»_

 _«_ _...why is my tongue trying to start a set of fifteen subroutines?_ _»_ Markus was slightly dreading asking the question, because it might be just him, but there’s poorly concealed laughter in Connor's voice as he answers:

_«_ _Let it. It's for substance analysis, bring a sample to your mouth, the tongue has advanced sensors and accesses instantly a full forensic database._ _»_

Ah. Unsavoury from an external perspective, pun not intended, but logical… and efficient, all things considered. He scans the dead man –facial scan tells him what the DPD already knows: _Henry Willis, deceased_. He has several cuts and stab wounds on his arms and chest, but only two of them are deep enough to have been fatal –there was a scuffle, and the murderer had a much inferior upper body strength.

Markus bites at his lip before reaching a finger out and sampling the blood. He's been dead for less than two hours, which matches with the neighbour checking in after hearing shouting and noises and calling the police. There's also traces of red ice –the victim was using heavily, and was likely under the influence at the time of death.

"Jesus _Christ_ , kid, not you too..."

 _«_ _Does the Lieutenant always find it unpleasant when you_ _analyze_ _evidence?_ _»_ Markus asks, wondering how to reconciliate necessity with Hank's distaste for the display,

 _«_ _I may or may not get a slight kick out of disgusting him as much as possible._ _»_ Connor's voice is guilty and amused and Markus just about loves it. He shakes his head and looks around some more.

The disarray of the room confirms the struggle, a coffee table in the living room has been skidded across the floor by someone falling against it, likely the victim himself, judging by the depth and direction of the scuff marks, the murder weapon is missing but it's likely the one knife missing from the set in the kitchen gauging by the size and shape of the wounds; and there's a belt, it's stained in blood, likely the victim's— or maybe not. The garment couldn't have fallen out on its own, so either the murderer,  much smaller and weaker than the victim, was sexually assaulting him, or the victim had taken off the belt and was using it as a weapon himself... he touches the blood staining the buckle and brings it to his mouth –he has to grit his teeth as the answer pops up in his interface. _Pauleen Willis, female, 15. Unaccounted for._

"Is licking stuff a thing, with you prototype androids?!" Hank complains, but then he sees Markus' expression and sobers up. "What you got?"

Markus lets his optical unit roam all over the scene to complete the re-construction. "It started here. The victim was under the influence of red ice, and he attacked the murderer with his belt. There was a scuffle; the murderer managed to wiggle free and trip the victim over the coffee table..." he walks across the room to the kitchen, where the body is, "...and they managed to get themselves a weapon. The victim chased them in, and the murderer panicked and started slashing at them randomly... until the victim stopped moving."

Hank nods, expression changing from displeased to worried. "Do you have a suspect for me?"

_«_ _You need to tell him, Markus.»_

_«_ _Yes, thank you, Jiminy Cricket._ _»_ To Connor's credit, the thought did cross Markus' mind. But he'd have a better chance of helping this girl if he talked to her. "There's traces of blood on the belt." He confirms to the Lieutenant, "It belongs to the victim's daughter, Pauleen Willis, 15 years old."

"Fucking hell." Indeed, Hank. "Any clues on where she went?"

"The front door was closed from the inside..." Markus remarks –before realization hits him and he starts scanning all the windows for fingerprints.

"Mar— uh, kid! What are you doing?! We're on the twelfth floor!!!"

"Which is exactly why I'm in a hurry and can't explain!" He hits the jackpot at the third one –he gets slashed in the arm for his efforts, but he managed to grab the small arm attacking him and gets an armful of scared little girl before she falls twelve stories down off the windowsill.

She's terrified even as he hauls her in from the window kicking and screaming.

"Shhh! You're okay!" He tries, disarming her as swiftly and as painlessly as possible, "You're okay! I won't hurt you..."

 _«_ _Markus, are you_ comforting _the perpetrator?_ _»_

 _«_ _She's clearly traumatized!_ _»_ he protests when Connor reprimands him.

_«_ _She is still a suspect, whether or not she's a scared minor! At least tell me you're not hugging her in front of the other officers._ _»_

At this point in time, Markus still has the child safely cradled in his arms and has to still the hand carding through her hair. _«_ _...no._ _»_

_«_ _You're a terrible liar._ _»_

Hank just shakes his head at him and secures the murder weapon. "I'll just... call it in."

They drive Pauleen to the precinct, and Markus needs both Hank forbidding him to go with and Connor chastising him, before he gives up accompanying the child in the car.

 _«_ _I know she's very young and all evidence points to abuse, but you can't just take her side while she's still a murder suspect._ _»_ Connor says through their still open call, _«_ _You've already been nice to her, she'll trust you. Get her talking, make the evidence apparent for the humans as well. Play your cards right, and the crime will downgrade from murder-two to involuntary manslaughter. Not to mention she's a minor and will be processed as such._ _»_

_«_ _She's covered in bruises, Connor. Old and new. And she's bleeding from the forehead._ _»_

_«_ _This will be a mere formality then. I believe in you, Markus._ _»_

Markus doesn’t even try to pretend that Connor’s encouragement isn’t a major factor in calming him down.

Predictably, once they reach the station and give Pauleen medical attention she is shaking like a leaf and refusing to let anyone but Markus –well, 'Connor'— get close.

Detective Reed overhears the whole thing, but he just sends a scathing look his way and says "Tch. Figures."

Markus doesn't deign him of even one look as he steps into the interrogation room.

"Hello, Pauleen." She doesn't respond immediately, but her eyes flicker up to him. Progress. "My name is— Connor. I'm here to help you. But before I can do that, I need you to help me understand what happened."

The teen still doesn't speak, but she hugs her arms and shrinks into herself –her stress level is still quite elevated, she's still very afraid.

"Your father—"

" _That man_." The correction is immediate and sounds absolutely disgusted. Markus can't find it in himself to blame her.

"That man was abusing you, wasn't he?" He asks, "He hurt you for a long time... and eventually you decided you had to defend yourself. Is that it?"

Pauleen bites her already busted lower lip. Something in her face crumbles, and her voice breaks with unshed tears. "I don't wanna go to juvie!"

Markus thinks, for the first time, that his heart is not made for a detective. He chucks all the diplomatic dialogue options to the wind: "I won't let that happen to you."

_«_ _Don't make promises you can't keep, Mark—_ _»_

_«_ _Shut up._ _»_ He carries on, reaching a hand out for her to grab if she wishes to. "You won't have to go to juvie if we can confirm that you acted in self-defence." Which is true. "But for that to be possible I need you to tell me exactly everything that happened."

"What about you?" She asks, "Your arm, that was..."

"That was the window frame, I knocked against it and cut myself on the metal." He says with the tiniest wink.

_«_ _Markus..._ _»_

_«_ _What? I won't tell if she won't. She didn't mean to anyway._ _»_

_«_ _Goddamn it, Markus._ _»_

There's a small beat of silence, but finally, through the anguish and fear and desperation of the night, the little girl smiles. "It’s Paulie."

Markus smiles back. "Paulie, then. I like it better."

From there, it's a matter of twenty minutes. She tells him about everything, the drugs, the beatings, the particularly bad times when he took the belt.

Tonight, he was particularly cruel, and hit her on the head with the buckle. She thought she was going to die, and decided she didn't want to.

Markus feels his chest sag in relief when from the observation room the Lieutenant says "Okay, we've heard enough."

Extenuating circumstances and self-defence plain as day, the worst thing this little girl will be facing is probably foster care.

"Okay, kid, detective work 101." Hank whispers to him, once they're back to their desk, "You _can't_ hug every suspect you find just because they're crying and scared."

"I know..." Markus concedes, "I can't really help it, I was designed to be a caretaker... caring is in my core." But then _something_ shines in his eyes and Hank could swear, that despite it being still Connor's face, he could almost see the green and blue. "And I _know_ murder is still murder, heavens know _I_ know you can't turn the abused into abusers and call it justice..." after all, when many androids wanted to get their freedom through human blood, _he_ was the one to put forward dialogue as the alternative. "But she didn't just wake up one day to take a knife to her father. She was literally, desperately _fighting to keep her own life_. Forgiveness does exist; and it goes that way, too." And it also maybe struck a chord within him, but he doesn’t say.

Hank can't really fault that logic. And really, even watching from a cold-blooded, rational standpoint, the elements are all there. The Lieutenant sighs. Now they can only hope the foster care system isn't any worse than what she was already living. Hopefully she'll find a happy ending, or whatever level of decent ending you can find in Detroit.

When they finally reach Hank's home, Markus almost makes a beeline for Sumo, the only thing stopping him being Anderson's voice: "Wash off the blood first! Your own, too!" The RK200 ducks into the bathroom with a chuckle, as he hears "Jesus, it's exactly like with Connor!"

He is already under the spray when the call pings again.

 

Connor would be a big fat liar if he said he wasn't worried about Markus fucking up the murder investigation. Not for lack of competence, no, Markus is a prototype himself and a very advanced one at that, especially considering he's older than Connor by a few years... but Connor has seen the uglier side of Detroit and how blurry the line between who's the real victim and who's the real perpetrator can become; and given Markus'... history, he feared an emotional response high enough to make him do something crazy –possibly spurred by the ill-adapted processing functions as his software inhabits a body not his own. After all, he knows it's affecting _him_ for sure –there's no other plausible reason for how much _harder_ his attraction for Markus is hitting him; harbouring a crush is one thing, being physically unable to get thoughts of the other out of your mind is a bit much.

Then again, he guesses the special circumstance of literally inhabiting his crush's body might be playing a part. Still, he needs to take his mind off his own thoughts, so he calls his counterpart. _«_ _So... first proper day of being a detective… are you alright?»_

 _«I am now.»_ Markus’ voice sounds calm and relaxed, almost to the point of seeming groggy.

Thinking of big fuzzy Sumo often cheering him up after a hard day, Connor chuckles. _«Anything in particular making things better?»_

_«The nice, hot shower spray under which I’ll stay for the next fifteen minutes.»_

Connor’s next words catch in his throat. His processes immediately supply an image of Markus, the real Markus, standing under a shower spray in all his naked glory and talking to him with that tone. Why did calling the RK200 seem like a good idea to get thoughts of his feelings out of his head?

…right, he was not prepared for naked, showering Markus. His voice crackles slightly with static, but he finds it in himself to tease the other about it: _«You better cut it down to ten or Hank will come knocking.»_

_«How come?»_

_«Hank doesn’t trust me to be more than ten minutes on my own without licking something or other.»_

Markus’ laughter is both a joy and a torture. _«You really get a kick out of messing with the man, don’t you?»_

 _«I’ve come to consider him a father of sorts, and he treats me like he would his own son.»_ The RK800 counters, fondness finding its way in his voice even underneath the sarcasm. _«I’m merely exercising my filial right of being, as Hank calls it, ‘a little shit’.»_

_«I’ll try my best to do you proud.»_

The call ends on that, as Connor lets Markus shower in peace and the RK200 takes some time to properly metabolize the day he just had. It won’t get any easier.

Idly, as he pets Sumo, he hopes that Connor is having an easier time –as the spearhead of a peaceful revolution, he has meetings upon meetings with all kinds of politicians; and he’s under a constant spotlight on top of that, but, while tedious and difficult in its own right, it shouldn’t be too traumatizing for someone as capable as Connor. After all, Connor _believes_ in him, the very least he can do is return the sentiment –and really, it’s not hard to: Markus would have to be blind and stupid not to know exactly how skilful and reliable the RK800 is… he meant what he said to Reed about how special someone has to be, to put themselves in front of an assault rifle with no hesitation and no fear –the mere thought still gives him shivers, both the fearful kind and the fun kind.

Right now, though, he too can take a rest. Hank is having a nice, long shower himself, now; and Markus gets an idea as he looks around the living room. It might be a good time to shake the dust off of some of his older protocols.

He tidies the room, gets rid of the empty bottles, starts a dishwashing cycle… might as well check the fridge and get a dinner started –it’ll save him from having to endure the stench of that sorry excuse for a burger place.

…Shit, he may actually be a snob, when it comes to cooking. And he doesn’t even _need_ to eat.

The Lieutenant comes out of his room, freshly showered and now with clean clothes, just as Markus is finishing setting up the table. “What… the…”

“Force of habit.” Markus says, just on this side of sheepish, “I couldn’t sit idle too long, and… I thought you might like some dinner. Fancy some carbonara? I shouldn’t, because it will punch your cholesterol in the face, but after the day we’ve just had… some comfort food is in order. I worked with what was in the fridge.”

Hank is conflicted. On one hand, he was all but ready to go get his burger. On the other hand.. it smells delicious; and it stands to good reason that an android will have the proper traditional recipe in his database, so that is some honest-to-god carbonara as if cooked from a proper Italian chef. He sits at the table, if a bit awkwardly. “You didn’t have to do this, kid.”

Markus just smiles at him. “You didn’t have to be nice to me, but you were.” He objects softly, “You didn’t have to be understanding of my romantic troubles, but you were. You didn’t have to let me stay here, but you did.”

The Lieutenant almost looks bashful, at that. He gets started on the pasta instead of answering and that’s the next surprise. “Holy shit, this is good.” He doesn’t normally dish out praise like that, but whatever Markus did to the food to make it like this, it’s fucking delicious, “Fuck. Please leave some of those recipes in Connor’s head for the future, when you switch back.”

Chuckling, the RK200 nods. “I’ll let him download them, if all else fails.” He assures, moving to go play with Sumo some more while he waits for the Lieutenant to finish, but he gets stopped by a hand around his wrist.

“Kid. Sit. You don’t have to just take the bow and fuck off like a butler, you can sit down and do your own thing.” Hank tells him, gesturing to a cabinet on the other side of the room, “There’s some of that blue goop you guys eat in there, pop a bottle open and keep me company. …If you want to.”

Sumo will come nose his way against his legs regardless, and Markus can recognize an olive branch when he sees one.

Dinner with Hank gets filed away with the other pleasant experiences in his memory, along with playing piano, painting, talking to his friends and the likes. It also makes him create a reminder to ask Connor to visit Carl if he can.

 

 _«Alarm deactivated. Welcome home, Markus.»_ Three days in, and this is _still_ weird.

There was nothing on schedule today that North and the guys couldn’t take care of themselves, and so they let Connor off easy, just to give him one less day to have to pretend to be Markus. He decided to heed the RK200’s request when he told him that he had no plans for the day –it seemed important, Markus referred to the man as Carl first, and then ‘my father’ directly.

 _«Should I act in any particular way?»_ he asks, as he steps into the mansion,

 _«Nah. Don’t even try to fool him, he’ll be able to tell right away.»_ the other says, sure as the sky is blue, _«Just explain what happened to him if he asks. But, uh… maybe leave out the part where I thought I’d be deleting myself.»_

_«So you do know that was a stupid thing to do!»_

_«Yes well, you’re the one who’ll get the reprimands if you mention it now.»_

_«It might be worth it, to get it through that thick skull of yours.»_

_«Takes one to know one, pretty boy.»_

Connor is not sure which one of them Markus is calling ‘pretty’, or even whether he’s aware he used a pet name at all, but it still makes his thirium pump regulator do this weird thing where it goes faster for no reason. _«Shut the fuck up.»_

He finds Carl in the studio, in much better shape than what Markus described as the last time he saw the painter, with a medical assistant android watching over him at a discreet distance. The painter looks up at him when the doors open, and the smile that breaks on his face is enough to make him look 20 years younger. “Markus!”

Connor was not prepared for this level of affection and love. He gulps in a completely unnecessary motion. “Hello, Carl.”

“Don’t just stand here, come on in, give your old man a squeeze.”

Well. ‘Right away’ has come and gone, but he guesses there’s not enough elements yet to actually distinguish his behaviour from Markus’. Walking closer to the wheelchair, he leans down towards Carl and hugs him at the shoulders, as gently as he can.

“Let me look at you, son, how are you?” Carl then says, pulling away slightly and grasping his face at the sides with both hands. He keeps them there for a few seconds, and in Connor’s mind they somehow tick slower than normal, but eventually the painter smiles. “…I can’t even ask if you’ve been eating enough.”

Markus chuckles through their still open line. Biting at his lower lip, Connor can’t quite help himself: “Well… you could ask if I’ve been drinking enough thirium.”

That makes Carl look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Have you?” he asks, not without some amusement in his voice.

The RK800 tries to make a show of considering it. “…probably not as much as I should.”

It’s an open secret in Jericho that Markus almost actively avoids taking care of his own needs unless everybody else’s have been met first. If anything, this paternal visit might serve to hammer some sense into their oh-so-fearless leader.

The painter chuckles. “Then you can’t lecture me about my eating schedule any more.” He quips, light and easy for a man his age, even as he wheels himself back towards his easel –Connor realizes with a split second of delay that he should push him, since they’re so close, and he does the rest of the way. “What else can you tell me? Any more exciting adventures?”

“I hope not, I still have my hands full with the last one.” This time, Connor is speaking for both Markus and himself. Having scanned Carl and noticed his condition, he doesn’t mention the assassination attempt.

“Then maybe you have better news for me? You found yourself a nice girlfriend?” Carl’s tone is teasing but gentle, as he picks up his brush and dips it in coral red, to add to the sea of yellows and oranges already splayed out on the canvas.

“Carl—”

“Or a boyfriend, perhaps?”

Something about the attitude of that question makes the RK800 sputter –the painter made the correction as if he _knew_ that there would be a definite ‘no’ on the girlfriend front. It makes Connor wonder whether Carl asked out of first-hand knowledge of Markus’… preferences, and it sends his mind happily into the gutter about the RK200 again.

He has absolutely _no idea_ on how to answer that question. _«What do I even say to that, Markus?»_

From the other side of the line, his counterpart’s voice comes slightly choked. _«He’s messing with you.»_ he says, equal parts amused and mortified, _«He knows exactly what I would answer to him to that question and knows you’re not me. Tell him to stop amusing himself at your expense and then introduce yourself.»_

Carl laughs heartily when Connor relays the message, they get to know each other a bit and then he asks very earnestly about what the hell happened to his real android son.

“There was a… technical mishap.” The RK800 explains meekly, now getting why Markus didn’t want to worry Carl, “Markus was— I malfunctioned, and Markus was selfless enough to have my consciousness uploaded into his body. He is currently inhabiting mine as it undergoes repairs.”

The painter pauses at that. “Yes… it sounds like something Markus would do.” he mutters, once more taking a long, calculated look at Connor. “Well. From what I can see, you were definitely worth it.”

“Carl, I—”

“No, no, it’s the truth.” Carl insists, “You respected his wish to come see me, and you were considerate enough to try and talk like him when you thought I couldn’t tell you apart. You’re a kind soul. The world can always use more of them.”

Something lodges painfully in Connor’s chest at being defined a ‘kind’ soul, considering he has quite a lot of blood on his hands, blue and red alike –granted, the agents in the Cyberlife building were out to kill him, but still. He killed with no hesitation and no remorse.

 _«He’s not wrong, you know?»_ Markus’ voice doesn’t help, and he feels all the more unworthy.

People often compared the two of them, what with them both being RK prototypes and their actions during the revolution, specifically the march, and yet Connor has never felt like anything more than the shadow to Markus’ light –doing the dirty, unforgiving work, the one that stains your hands in blood; and happy to do it as well, if it meant that Markus could keep staying true to the ideals he believed in.

Then Markus confessed to him about the two armed guards he killed during the ship raid, and suddenly light and shadow weren’t so different anymore. Despite that, though, Connor still sees Markus as too out of this world, too compassionate, too gentle, too selfless, too… pure to actually be mixed and blended with the violent, the manipulative, the cold-blooded and rational… someone like… him.

And yet, he made that choice himself –‘you’re one of us’— he had said, ‘your place is with your people’.

Without knowing, Connor is smiling minutely. He knows he’s been silent for the last 74 seconds and counting, but Carl doesn’t seem to mind. “Whatever is going through your head right now, leave it behind.” He says, nudging him a bit with his palette, “This is not a place for worrying. How about you paint a little with me?”

“Paint? Paint what?” Connor echoes, and oh, it brings back memories for the old painter, “I’ve never…”

 _«Just trust Carl.»_ Markus gently coaxes from the call, _«And tell me what you end up painting.»_

Before the RK800 can object, Markus ends the call, and he finds himself making conversation with an elderly, eccentric painter who insists he take a brush to a blank canvas with no subject and no directions.

He spends the better part of thirty minutes painting with his eyes closed, then he opens them but leaves them unfocused as per Carl’s suggestion… once he finally stops he’s mortified to discover that, among the sea of colors and shapes melting in the background, there’s the hint of a face outlined on the canvas; and, while the shape and features are vague, the eyes are unmistakably blue and green.

Carl doesn’t say anything about it, but he gives Connor this sort of smile that makes the RK800 think the man’s intuition might as well be superhuman.

Their time comes to an end eventually, but just before he takes his leave Carl grabs him by the wrist. “Connor.” He calls, “Does Markus know?”

Yep. Definitely figured him out faster than you can say _‘thirsty for some_ revolution _’_.

The detective hunches his shoulders meekly. “I don’t think so, I… I haven’t told him.”

“You should.”

And oh, isn’t _that_ a thought. “Do you think so?” Connor isn’t quite sure himself. He’s not afraid of ‘ruining their friendship’, like many humans in romance tales are, because he knows Markus –if he were to reject Connor he’d be kind about it, like he is about everything else… but, in his own mind, ‘yes’ can still be the one true answer. As long as he stays in his own fantasy, he can _keep it_.

The question Carl’s words are bringing forward now is ‘is it worth it to keep something that never happened?’

The painter seems to believe the reward for taking the risk would be more gratifying. “I think… that you’re alive.” He says, smiling kindly at him with wise, fond eyes. “And there’s no sweeter way of living than through love. It doesn’t even have to be of the romantic kind, but if _it is_ … you shouldn’t throw it away on account of a ‘what-if’.” How in the name of rA9 does Markus manage to keep _anything_ from this man?! Connor is struck speechless; and Carl’s expression turns way too cheeky for a man his age. “And you don’t meet a guy like that twice in the same lifetime.”

For the first time in his life, Connor physically blushes –his interface gets flooded by emotional responses and confused dialogue prompt and his processes have to work at twice their usual speed to clear everything up, the rush of thirium around his head and face almost actually making him dizzy.

It takes all of two seconds to compose himself, but Carl is already chuckling.

“I’ll… think about it.” He settles for eventually, leaning down again to shake the man’s hand, “Thank you, Carl.”

Having kept a smidge of upper body strength despite the old age and his paralysis, Carl tugs the RK800 in by the hand and throws his other arm around the android’s shoulder to hug him. “No, thank _you_ for coming to visit, Connor.” He rebukes softly, “It was an absolute delight to meet you, son.”

 

Connor fumbles his way back to Jericho while still processing what the hell he just experienced for the last couple of hours. _«I suddenly have a lot more respect for your caretaker job.»_

Markus chuckles, low and warm and now is really _not the time_. _«Quite a handful, that Carl, isn’t he?»_

All the same, Connor feels his thoughts grow fonder at the mere mention of the man. _«He cares about you a lot.»_

 _«I know.»_ the RK200 also sounds very affectionate, and it just about melts Connor’s core to imagine what Markus and Carl must look like, maybe painting together like father and son, or playing chess and talking about whatever it is that such immensely creative and empathetic people do. _«I should go see him more often. I probably will, once this whole mess gets fixed.»_

The detective android can’t keep the smile off his face. _«Yes, you should.»_

 _«Will you come with me?»_ it’s out of Markus’ mouth before he can hold it in, and Connor is understandably taken aback.

_«Me?»_

_«He’ll want to know how you’re doing.»_ Markus offers, which is true enough, _«And if you’re not with me he’ll hound me relentlessly about you until I cave and drag you to the house myself.»_

 _«Fair enough.»_ The RK800 can actually easily picture it happening, and he relents.

“Connor?” Simon always knocks twice, before he steps in anyway –it’s likely that there’s nothing Markus would actually keep his door closed for, after all, but still, the gesture is nice. “I wanted to get you during downtime, if you have a moment… you’re going to be speaking in public tomorrow, I prepared some tips for you to review.”

 _«Bless you, Simon.»_ Markus says from his end, blatantly fighting back laughter, _«Well, it looks like you’re getting to the fun part. Good luck.»_

 _«Oh, I hate you.»_ Connor deadpans in his head,

 _«You don’t really mean that.»_ the other retorts, _«I promise I’ll do my best to be a good little detective tomorrow and_ not _hug any murder suspects.»_

That’s the last they hear of each other for the day, and Connor doesn’t know whether he wants to punch Markus or kiss him.

He could do both, it would definitely make for an interesting choice of foreplay—

—he avoids mirrors for the rest of the entire evening. Goddamn instable software and suboptimal system compatibility, spiking all of his uncontrolled thoughts.

This week is turning out to be longer than he expected. Hopefully he’ll manage _not_ to do anything stupid before getting his body back.


	3. To let oneself go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And Connor?”
> 
> “Yes, Markus?”
> 
> “I give you my explicit consent to treat my body as your own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well.  
> Things are getting stranger and harder to regulate, it would seem.
> 
> The more time they spend in each other's body, the higher and harder to control are their own thoughts and emotonal responses.  
> This should be interesting. ♥
> 
> Alas, next chapter will maybe be the last, but fear not, I'll try and make it a good one, and then I still have several more prompts up my sleeve! ;)  
> Enjoy.

 

_» Self-repair progress check…_

_» …_

_» **Biocomponent #465B02:** 73%. **Biocomponent #465C04:** 76.6%._

_» **Estimated completion time:** d02.h19.m15.s13; 12; 11; 10…_

 

Markus rubs at his eyes with his hands. It’s going as well as could be expected, with the wrong software overseeing the damage repair and biocomponents functionality. Connor just got back from Carl’s and that too went about as well as Markus thought it would –Carl may be old, but he is a spitfire in his own right and he can scarcely imagine what his father told Connor about him. Exasperation quickly turns to fondness as he recalls how easily the RK800 has taken to liking Carl. It’s impossible not to, really.

Sighing slightly to himself, he checks his systems over.

 

_»_ _Self-scan initiated._

_»_ _…_

_»_ _Core systems: 75% - **Minor damage detected. Minor software instability detected.**_

_»_ **_Biocomponents #465B02 and #465C04 damaged._ ** _Self-repair ongoing._

_»_ _Sound unit: 100%_

_»_ _Optical unit: 100%_

_»_ _Motor functions: 97.6% - **calibration advisable**._

He gets the quarter out to fiddle with it a little. Still not quite perfect dexterity, but it brings his motor functions back up to 99.2% and the interface stops hassling him about calibration… it’s a pretty strict standard, but Markus guesses a hunter must aspire to nothing less than perfection –it brings to the forefront of Markus’ mind how much deadlier than he looks Connor is.

A system that forbids itself to slip below 99% in terms of hand-eye and motor functionality is meant for a perfect fighter: perfect aim, perfect reflexes, perfect coordination. It makes the thought of such a killing machine _staying his hand_ for Markus, back when they met, all the more powerful. Connor could have killed him easily, but _chose_ not to. He _chose_ to fight by his side rather than against him; and _good heavens_ were those few moments in the heat of battle together during the raid the biggest thrill he ever felt since escaping the junkyard.

_» Core temperature rising. Increasing cooling cycle speed by 1.05%_

Right. He should probably stop thinking about that.

“Any luck?” Hank looks up from his plate when he hears the tell-tale ‘tink’ of the quarter once Markus flicks it, catches hit with the palm of his hand and slams it back on the table face-down.

“Just about…” the RK200 says with a tired nod, “The self-repair is going well, considering it is two major biocomponents, and I seem to be keeping up with the RK800 hardware requirements well enough –the 200 software has some core differences and the subroutines have a definite margin of error that causes a slight lag in all of the—”

“Fuck’s sake, you’re starting to sound like Connor.” Hank interrupts, “English?”

Markus allows himself a smirk and a roll of the eyes. “It’s not perfect, but it works.” He surmises, “Being the wrong person for this particular body makes for errors left right and center, but I can _deal_. Mostly.”

“See? Why didn’t you just say _that_ from the start?”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

The Lieutenant chuckles; and for that he nearly misses Markus moving to take away the dishes now that dinner is over. “Leave it. Don’t worry; I can do my own goddamn washing up before bed.”

The android nods. “Okay.”

Hank hesitates for a second, but then he asks: “You heard from Connor?”

“I’ve been in near constant contact with him.” He remarks, arching an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean, smartass.” The Lieutenant protests, “Is he doing ok?”

Markus _could_ make fun of Hank for being a grumpy, worried dad, but he lets the man save face. “I suspect he’s bored out of his mind from all the bureaucracy involved in seeking civil rights, but he seems to be otherwise doing fine.” He explains, not bothering to hide the fondness in his voice since Hank knows his dirty little secret, “He’s also had some minor complaints about my body’s _sub-optimal_ speed, strength and coordination parameters, but I’m choosing to believe he’s just a perfectionist like that.”

The implications are not lost on Hank, and he smirks. “That so?”

“Well. He’s a newer model compared to me, and fine-tuning a more advanced model to an older software is easier than doing the opposite.” The RK200 answers, instinctively looking down at his right hand as he clenches and unclenches his fist, “I’ve also discovered why I had issues with determining how much strength I put into throwing the quarter: Connor’s exoskeleton has a slightly denser consistency than mine, so that may be a factor in his performance adaptation being off while in my body.”

Which made Markus realize that, contrary to himself, the RK800 doesn’t just have shit self-preservation: he puts himself in danger because he _knows_ he can take it –everything about his decisions is carefully crafted and calculated. Had Markus taken the bullets rather than Connor, three days ago, they would have probably gone deep enough to completely shatter his biocomponents rather than just damaging them and he would have not survived. Again, he should probably not be thinking about Connor’s many _gifts_ while in Hank’s presence. “We could go visit Jericho on lunch break tomorrow, if you miss your son that much.” He says instead.

The Lieutenant grumbles some more at that, probably uneasy about being caught _caring_ , but agrees to make plans, provided that no one gets murdered before lunchtime.

 

It looks kind of strange, from the outside, to see Josh, Simon and North envelop Connor in a group hug, but none of them at all cares. And since the hug train got him going, Markus actually skids to an awkward stop before he can hug –well, himself.

He lets his hands fall down, before bringing up just one and patting Connor on the shoulder. “So, how’s the software optimization going?”

Connor’s fingers twitch minutely as he holds back the urge to place his hand over the one Markus has on his shoulder or worse, straight up tug the other in. “Nightmarish. There’s at least one parameter that is always off, and for the life of me I can’t—”

Just then, Markus leans minutely in with a knowing smile. “Exoskeleton density.” He whispers, and Connor’s processes take a split-second longer than they should have to properly compute the information, propelled as he was into his frustration and taken aback by the RK200 leaning into him like _that_ all of a sudden, but when it does click, he has to blink himself out of the epiphany –different density means different weight distribution, which solves a lot of mysteries about balance and barycentre.

He exhales. “How did it even come up for you?”

“I tossed a coin with the force of a bullet while in your body.” Ah, yes, Connor remembers Markus mentioning the quarter got embedded into a wall on his first calibration attempt, “I figured strength parameters only weren’t enough to make such a difference justifiable, and started playing with sensory and motor settings.”

“Okay, kid, I can deal with a lot of bullshit but no one wants to hear about you _playing_ with yourself.” Hank knows he probably shouldn’t –it’s not nice to put Markus on the spot like that, and it’s probably not nice to Connor either, but… Markus practically _told_ him he’s got the hots for his surrogate android son, and Hank can’t help but be curious about what Connor’s opinion of Markus is.

And also maybe he’s grown to like Markus in their short time together and wants to help. Though maybe joking at his expense isn’t the best way to go about it.

As it happens, the RK200 is trying very hard to seem unfazed by the joke, and just gets the same sing-song tone he had when reprimanding him about his alcohol intake last night. “Lieutenant…”

“Oh it’s quite the contrary, Hank.” Connor cuts in –though it sounds so weird to hear his logical, matter-of-fact tone in someone else’s voice, “Any insight Markus can offer about putting our respective software back in order will be vital to a successful recovery and make transferring back to our original bodies much easier and more efficient.”

Outwardly, the RK800 has given no indication Hank’s double-entendre landed at all, but a deliberate non-reaction is a reaction in and of itself –Connor is very pointedly ignoring his humor, not even reprimanding him for being crass in public.

Interesting.

As for the other members of the Jericho crew, North is staring at Hank with wide eyes, while Simon locked eyes with Markus and they seem to be having a conversation, if the LED indicators flickering yellow are any clue about it, while Josh just shakes his head, probably thinking they’re all idiots.

“Yes, well. At least keep the dirty parts to yourselves.”

“You think too little of both of us, Hank.” Connor comments deliberately, turning to look at Markus, “I’m sure Markus has been nothing short of a gentleman while inhabiting my chassis— Markus? Are you listening?”

The RK200 snaps his gaze back at him –he’s not used anymore to have the LED indicator as a tell-tale sign that he’s also processing something else, and he’s been often forgetting about that. “Of course I am, and yes, I wouldn’t take advantage of being inside someone else’s body, despite whatever jokes of _questionable_ taste can be made at my expense.” He remarks with a slight smirk; and Hank just rolls his eyes at the both of them.

“This’ll make me puke before I even eat.” And not because of any uncomfortable android-sex jokes, but because of how absolutely smitten Markus is and just how saccharine he becomes whenever he’s within ten feet of Connor.

The Lieutenant’s words bring Connor’s attention back to the fact that this is technically Hank’s _lunch_ break. “Will you be going to Gary’s now?”

“Pfft, I wish. This _glorified nurse_ here got me on a _dietary regimen_.” Hank jabs a thumb towards Markus’ chest, while his other hand holds up the wrapped box he’s been carrying with him the whole time: “He _packed_ me lunch.”

“And I don’t wanna hear any _whining_.” Markus immediately quips back, “You said you like seafood; and risotto with steamed shrimp, squid and clams qualifies. It tastes good, I promise.”

“Really, how would _you_ know?”

“My dad likes it.”

Hank was not ready for that. It’s such simple words, but it really puts into perspective that, even if one were to consider these androids as old as they look –if only because they were built with adult-levels of consciousness and understanding— they can still very well be his children. Both of them.

He doesn’t quite meet Markus’ gaze. “Yes, well. We’ll see.”

They settle more into the room, so that Hank can take a seat and have his lunch in peace; and in the meantime they try to hash out more details about doing the best they can with what they have so far.

“So. We’ve already slammed face-first into performance optimization issues. What else is going on that can fuck us over before we can solve this?” Markus asks, all too happy to brainstorm together –it’s a small mercy that out of all people this could have happened with, it turned out to be Connor: he is competent to the point of perfectionism and the only person who ever matched him word for word in any given discussion.

“Emotional instability. The software is ill-fitting on the hardware, and the subroutines have scattered priorities as a result.” The RK800 mentions, biting slightly at his lower lip before looking up, “I don’t know if you’ve experienced any yet, but I’ve felt some… disproportionate instinctive reactions to otherwise harmless and perfectly manageable stimuli.”

He dearly hopes Markus doesn’t ask for clarification, because it’d be hard to explain he has the near-incontrollable urge to touch himself every time he so much changes shirts without disclosing his embarrassingly acute feelings for the other android.

“That… actually might explain why I got so emotional during the chase and the interrogation the other day.” Among _other_ things.

“ _You_ admitting to being emotional?” North comments, sending a _look_ at Markus, “That’s like a barrel of gasoline admitting to being _somewhat_ flammable. It must have been _some_ reaction.”

“Hey, let a man have his vulnerabilities.” Simon chastises, even though his tone is just as teasing-

Markus looks down at his hands before looking back up at Connor, “I’m sorry about how I handled that, by the way. I remember I was quite rude to you.”

“No, it’s… that was understandable, don’t worry.” If Connor was to be completely honest, he didn’t mind one bit. There’s something about the ever-so-calm and effortlessly composed Markus throwing away the pleasantries and growling at him to shut up that stirred his lower functions into something fierce. Like a glimpse of the real, raw person beneath the politically correct exterior, a veritable beast that would be _his_ to hunt down and tame. He reaches up to straighten a tie he isn’t wearing, and the movement makes the corners of Markus’ mouth twitch up.

That tiny, barely-there smile is exactly what would set Connor’s thirium pump on fire, were it to come from Markus’ real face. “Don’t you dare make fun of me.” He snaps, making a show of giving the other an appraising look, “Have you even brushed your hair in the last three days?”

“Sure I have.” And yet, Markus self-consciously runs a hand through the mess of brown curls that currently rests atop his head. “…with my hands.”

“I’d like to say I’m surprised, but I’m not.” Connor shakes his head, dropping the subject of appearances –he knows better that try to argue what’s proper with the guy who owns shirts that are more zipper than fabric. “How are the repairs going along?”

“I was at 75% overall last night, we should be on schedule.” Blessedly, Markus is also actually taking this seriously.

Josh, who had been happy to sit in silence and pretend this wasn’t at all happening for most of the day, chooses to speak up at that: “We should have a test run once everything is repaired, before we transfer your cores back.” His expression his thoughtful, but his suggestion makes perfect sense. “Testing the hardware condition and performance parameters will also get rid of any disorders in either of your software; and we can be sure everything works as it should before we attempt an upload.”

“A test run, huh?” Hank mumbles, looking up briefly from his lunchbox, “How do you do one of those?”

“Well.” Josh ponders, “We’d have to test motor skills, reaction time, optical and sound functionalities, their unique functions –pre-construction and reconstruction— and also the software’s adaptation to—”

“Sparring.” Connor’s words with Markus’ voice break through Josh’s very careful considerations. “We should have a sparring match before we switch back. It will test everything we need to test, as well as calibrate our software to the highest efficiency possible.”

Once more, North sends a very specific sort of look at Markus. “The two prototypes decking it out… exciting!”

On one hand, Markus kind of doesn’t want to, it hits a little too close to home –a very dark reality that could have been but luckily wasn’t: Connor and him on opposite sides of the battlefield, where only one would have emerged alive. Because neither of them would have stopped and he knows it… it was freedom or death for him, and success or decommissioning for Connor.

On the other hand, though… the very idea of feeling on his skin the full power of the RK800 coming for him, testing his own might against the only other android who could match him blow for blow and possibly _out_ match him… that’s just too exciting to pass up.

“Sounds as good a test as any.” He eventually concedes, looking up at Connor, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fight myself.”

 

Hank is not too happy about that perspective, but they promise to keep it non-lethal and they say their goodbyes.

“Markus, wait!” Connor runs out to him while the Lieutenant gets in the car.

“…yes?”

“I wanted to thank you.” The RK800 says, not meeting his eyes, “For taking care of Hank. He’s not getting any younger, and I— just… thank you, Markus.”

It doesn’t matter that Connor can’t quite find the right words, the RK200 understands all too well. He was scared out of his mind when he saw Carl bedridden and with a respirator –the news that he has been recovering slightly and his quality of life has gotten better again was immensely relieving, despite knowing that his father’s clock is ticking and will soon come down to its final cycle.

Hank is younger and healthier than Carl, but it’s still a handful of minutes compared to the inescapably longer lifespan of androids, so yes. If he can at all prolong the health of a loved one, Markus will do his damnedest to. He smiles at Connor, a genuine, understanding expression softening his entire face. “Anytime.” He says, before he gets an idea and reaches out. “And Connor?”

If he was anything less than a superbly advanced prototype, Connor would have jumped at the hand grasping his forearm. “Yes, Markus?”

“About the whole ‘emotional instability’ issues…” the RK200 is concentrating really hard to look for a way to say this that won’t make him sound like a creep, but eventually he does manage to arrange a decent string of words in his interface, “If— if you ever feel the need to release that tension, I…” he can’t meet Connor’s eyes as he says it, so he lowers them to the ground between them, “I don’t want you to think about _my_ issues while you’re the one inhabiting that body. Whatever you need to do with it to keep yourself within a reasonable margin of comfort and avoid spiking your stress levels, you can do it.” Markus is not looking at the other android, but somehow he knows there’s a protest forming on the very tip of Connor’s lips, so he hammers his point down with finality: “I give you my _explicit_ consent to treat my body as your own for the remainder of these few days until the test run.”

Unbeknownst to Markus, the words ‘explicit consent’ sparked a whole lot of reactions in Connor that make the RK800 think he might have to take him up on this offer sooner rather than later.

He almost reaches for his imaginary tie again, but settles for biting at his lower lip –Markus’ lips are deliciously supple, it’s a delight to bite at them, and he can’t help but wonder how it would feel to do it from the outside— woah, off-topic again. “Okay. But only if you promise to give the same slack to yourself.”

“Deal.” Markus isn’t quite sure Connor is aware of what he would be offering, considering his feelings, but he’ll let himself relax within reason.

 

The rest of his fourth day as a detective is mostly uneventful, they spend it largely following up on Paulie’s case, and Hank gets to make some more fun of Markus for fretting so much.

“I just— worry.” He says at one point, “She’s just so… young.”

The Lieutenant fixes this sort of _look_ on him, partway between affectionate and wistful. “Welcome to my world.”

It’s probably not his place to, but yet again Markus feels glad that someone like Hank Anderson is in Connor's life.

They’re just leaving the precinct when a very familiar tiny figure all but runs towards the android.

“Connor!”

Markus still struggles with remembering to turn when that name is called. Luckily, what’s a big lull of hesitation for an android is but a split second to a human’s perception; and he turns just in time to see Paulie skid to a stop in front of him. “Hello, Paulie.” She looks much healthier with clean clothes and no more blood on her face, her dark hair is neatly tied up in a small ponytail at the base of her head and she has a shiny new plaster for her eyebrow. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay.” She starts, then stops, and then starts again. “I mean, I’m not, and I won’t be for a long time… but I will be. Eventually.” Frighteningly realistic for a fifteen year old. “They’re gonna let me stay in one of those family houses until the court hearing; and I’ve got a couple of free hours to get my stuff. Officer Wilson is escorting me, and she’s been nice enough to let me stop by here.”

Oh no here we go. Hank doesn’t consider himself an expert on teenage girls, not by a long shot, but he can see where this is going and already he’s struggling to hold in the laughter.

Markus doesn’t seem to have caught on yet. “Why would you waste your free time to come here?”

“I wanted to see you again.” There we go. “T-to thank you!!!” She hurries to clarify, but the damage is done and already Hank has to mask a chortle into a cough. “You’re the first person who was ever kind to me in my whole life. Which, granted, hasn’t been that long yet, but… it means a lot to me.”

The RK200 allows himself a smile. “A… friend, once showed me that we always have a choice.” He says, all but hoping that it’s something Connor actually thinks of him, “And that choosing to be kind is the strongest choice you can make.”

Paulie reaches out both her hands to grasp one of his. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that androids aren’t people.” She says, earnestly looking up at him –that’s right, this body still has a LED indicator and he’s wearing the DPD issued uniform. “You’re the _best_ person I’ve ever met.”

Before Markus can thank her for the compliment, the teen jumps on her tippy toes and smacks a kiss on his left cheek. The RK200 is completely taken off-guard.

“What just happened?” he asks, watching her run away and wave at him as he absently waves back.

It’s all it takes for Hank to full-on burst out laughing. “It seems you’ve got our young perp crushing on Connor.”

The words make sense, but the concept doesn’t make sense to Markus. “…but she’s a child.”

“Doesn’t seem to stop her.” The Lieutenant teases good-naturedly, before dropping a reassuring pat on his back. “Don’t stress over it, it’s just puppy love: she likes your face and you were the one person to be nice to her while she was scared and vulnerable.” True enough. Nothing about Paulie’s situation has been normal so far. “She will fixate on you for a while, then some movie will come out or some singer will release a single and she’ll move onto her next big crush.”

Markus seems, if possible, _more_ worried. “The healthy option would be for her to find someone her own age to develop feelings for.”

Hank shakes his head for a moment _Is he for real?_ The man asks himself –for someone who’s seen the horrors of android abuse and almost single-handedly led a revolution, Markus can be surprisingly naïve at times. “Yeah, good luck with that. Teenage boys are idiots. Hell, adult men ain’t all they’re cracked up to be either.”

That seems to bring the RK200 on the right track, and he chuckles. “Well, she could meet a nice girl instead.”

Having already gone in a completely different direction with his thoughts, Hank has to pause to let Markus’ words sink in. “…touché.”

The topic gets mercifully dropped, but by the time they reach Hank’s home Markus _has_ to call Connor: _«On a scale of one to ripping out my thirium pump, how mad at me would you be if I told you the girl from the other day now has a crush on me –well, you?»_

_«…Goddamnit, Markus.»_

He feels guilty about laughing, but he does. _«I’m sorry. Evidently your looks, matched with my personality, are just too good to be true.»_

_«I was worried about our sparring match, but now I think I will enjoy it.»_

_«I’m hurt, I thought you’d be looking forward to it regardless.»_ He jokes back, relishing in the ease he can let go of his overly nice persona when it’s just him and Connor –the RK800 doesn’t coddle him, he back-talks at every chance and will practically be offended if Markus doesn’t give back all he’s got.

It’s refreshing.

From his end of the line Connor simultaneously can’t believe Markus got a teenaged human girl to have a crush on him and is also absolutely not surprised in the least. Even without his roguish appearance and peculiar visage, Markus’ mannerism and the way he carries himself as a whole would be enough to charm just about anyone.

It definitely did _him_ in.

But he was silent for too long again, and Markus’ next words are laced with worry and contrition: _«…am I fucking up your job?»_

 _«No!»_ he hurries to say, even as he himself hasn’t quite considered it yet, _«It’s not your fault, you’re an empath and you just— you’re possibly too good to be a detective.»_

The RK800 is so panicked at the thought of Markus believing he’s mad that he doesn’t hear the slight intake of breath and the hopeful tone in his voice: _«..really?»_

 _«You have a way with people.»_ Connor himself can attest to that; and he actually means what he says: _«In the span of a week you convinced thousands to follow you and changed the world as we know it, Markus. If anything, I’d say a little girl crushing on you is below your charm quota.»_

The laughter that follows does something positively indecent to Connor’s mind, and his process priority gets happily scrambled. _«I… thank you, Connor.»_

Markus doesn’t quite know what else to say to that, so he eventually changes the subject: _«I hope my job isn’t too boring by comparison.»_

 _«I’ve found ways to amuse myself.»_ Connor assures, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, _«Were you aware that the Mayor’s secretary has a secret fetish about your eyes?»_

 _«Oh God, him.»_ So that’s a yes.

It was actually fairly easy to discover. The meeting itself was tedious and being dragged out well beyond its usefulness, so Connor started scanning the people around him to entertain himself, seeing how much he could find out about them just by what they were wearing, they body language, hormone levels, and so forth and so on. He just so happened to make direct eye-contact with the Mayor’s secretary, and the man was so taken aback by the stare that he cleared his voice and averted his gaze. Connor almost mistook it for fear at first, but then the man kept sneaking glances back up to see if he was looking, and his blood pressure elevated ever so slightly, until Connor decided to smile politely at him and incline his head and the man had to cross his legs to avoid a blatant show of his arousal. It was the funniest shit ever for Connor, bored as he was.

He and North had a good laugh about it on the way back –she’s surprisingly pleasant to be around, once you get through the hardened exterior. It’s also perfect ammunition to get back at Markus for his shenanigans. _«Yes. He’s the one with the most blatant obsession, but I have cause to believe at least three more people in that entourage fetishize you in some way.»_

That’s news to Markus, it would seem from his choked reaction. _«What?!»_

Connor smiles cheekily to himself, amused by the thought of the usually confident and suave rebel leader being embarrassed at the idea of inhabiting so many people’s fantasies. _«You could use this information to your advantage, charm your way through the deals.»_ Chances are, considering how much of a public figure Markus is by now, that way more people than they imagine have some sort of fantasy or other about him.

 _«Please, tell me you’re joking!»_ Huh. The RK200 is flustered, even as he laughs. Interesting. _«No amount of showering would wash away the sensation of feeling dirty, after something like that!»_

They both break into laughter at that, and Connor throws his head back to recline on the sofa he’s sitting on. _«You know… this is not so bad.»_

_«What?»_

_«Being inside you.»_

Connor realizes too late how many meanings that choice of words has. There’s a definite lull in the conversation, and once more Markus’ voice goes lower, gets a warmer sort of quality that the RK800 allows himself to be so bold as to consider _flirting_. _«Careful, detective, there’s a joke to be made somewhere in there.»_

Almost instantly, the RK800 feels his sensory processes go almost into overdrive. His first thought is _please don’t do this to me, Markus._ He tries to focus enough to speak into the call, but no message goes through. This can’t be happening now. They were just chatting and joking amicably, one small, harmless double entendre shouldn’t be enough to reduce him to such a mess… and yet.

Oh, what an idea. Being _inside_ Markus… repaying him with his own money, teasing him slowly like he’s so fond of doing with words; until he’s losing himself and can’t process anything but _his_ name—

_«…Connor?»_

_«I’m okay—»_ he really isn’t, but he isn’t sure he’d be able to keep his own lust out of his voice right now. Just thinking about the double entendre of his words brought up the very literal mental image to the forefront of his processors, and for the life of him Connor can’t stop thinking about it, and the misaligned software can’t be fast enough to stop, delete and recalibrate, no matter how hard he tries, so now his synthetic skin feels aflame from the thirium coursing underneath and the only prompt that makes sense is _touch_.

 _«…if you say so.»_ Markus is possibly too perceptive for his own good, but even if he wasn’t it’s safe to say that he’d be able to tell Connor is by far not okay regardless. _«Just as a reminder… if you’re experiencing anything that’s making you uncomfortable… whatever you feel you need to do, you can do it.»_

Connor is heavily distracted by his own feeling and sensation, but he knows that tone in Markus’ voice, he’s about to end the call to give him privacy, of all things, but since the RK200 just told him to follow his needs, he does just that, and he hates that his voice sounds needy and choked even through the wireless call: _«Stay.»_

Markus has to stand up and gesture to the Lieutenant that he’ll be out on the porch for a while. He recognizes that sort of tone. Whatever the cause, Connor is… quite vulnerable at the moment, and despite Markus offering to leave him to his own devices the detective chose to ask him to stay on the line. He has to tread very carefully, because this exposes him to the risk of fulfilling his own selfish desires without Connor being aware of them, but he does want to help. _«I’m here.»_ he assures softly, _«What do you need me to do?»_

 _«Keep talking to me.»_ Connor almost begs, _«I… I wish to hear your voice.»_

Shit, Connor, you’re making it very difficult not to give in. _«Of course. It’s okay. You are safe, you can do anything you want.»_ he reminds the other again, breathing in to maximize oxygen intake for his cooling cycles.

From his side, Connor has ripped open his shirt on the irrational thought that he couldn’t breathe with the offending garment still on, well-aware as he was that he doesn’t need to breathe at all. As soon as Markus’ voice softly reminded him that he can do _anything_ , he has started running a hand from behind his neck all the way along his chest –good God, his thirium pump regulator is going crazy— to pause on his lower abdomen.

Markus’ words from the morning are _searing_ themselves inside his core memories _–‘I’m giving you explicit consent to treat my body as your own’—_ such blind trust, like he trusted him back in the church, how easily does Markus places his faith in Connor and how _powerful_ does that trust make the RK800 feel.

It’s too much. Markus placed himself in Connor’s hands, so that’s what Connor himself does, lets his hand undo the fly of his jeans and slip past it, like it _ached_ to do since the first time he saw himself in that goddamn mirror.

He is very glad that involuntary noises do not get passed through the wireless call –the nature of it makes it so that only words and sounds that you specifically mean to send can reach the receiver. _«Markus..»_

Still, a part of Connor _wants_ the RK200 to know what’s happening, what he’s doing to him.

 _«I’m here. You’re okay.»_ Markus’ voice sounds yet again different, low and soothing but with a sort of intrigued urgency of its own; and it gives Connor the certainty: Markus does know. Markus knows, and he’s _not going to stop him_. _«I’ll stay with you however long you need me to. You’re okay.»_

The RK200 is absently aware that for a human this would almost qualify as _phone sex_ , a practice which many consider crass and vulgar, but he can’t bring himself to care –Connor asked him to stay, Connor _needs_ to hear his voice, so that’s what he’ll do, even if it means he will have to duck under a freezing shower later, because as of right now his cooling cycles are doing absolute fuck all to actually keep his temperature in check.

It’s too bad involuntary noses do not pass through wireless calls –Markus is willing to bet the RK800 is _very_ vocal and sounds just about divine… but that’s his own attraction talking, and his rational self is willing to leave Connor at least _that_ much privacy. _«You’re doing great.»_ he assures, _«I’m still with you.»_

 _«Markus…»_ it’s incredibly flattering that, even if just to signal that he’s still there and can hear him, Connor isn’t saying anything but his name. _«Markus, I need…»_

 _«Anything you need, you can take it.»_ He isn’t quite able to resist, his own voice has gotten lower and darker, laced with his own barely restrained desire. Connor s quiet for a time, which sends Markus’ imagination reeling at the possibilities, but then his voice comes back, and when it reaches the RK200, needier and breathier than he ever dreamed hearing, Markus has to slam a fist against the doorframe to keep his cool.

_«Keep talking to me, Markus… please…»_

It’s that plea that does him in –against his own better judgment, Markus lets go, just a little bit. _«I’m right here, I’d never leave you. You’re doing so good, just a little while longer…»_

Those five particular words spike Connor’s arousal like he wouldn’t have believed had he been calm and collected like his usual; but they remind him too much of the day of the march –when Markus took all of his courage and started singing in front of his would-be executioners, and in a wireless signal more powerful than any android has ever been capable of, bouncing over each android he reached and then the next, he sent his song out to all of his people, in an episode that Connor would later dub ‘mass telepathy’. And it reminds him of reaching the barricade, and finding Markus, still alive and well. Markus, surprised and _relieved_ to see him. Markus, _smiling_ just for him.

Just like he’s whispering and waiting, just for him –patiently and gently coaxing him to completion to the sound of his own voice. Connor has been working himself with his hand ever since he desperately called Markus' name the first time, and now his core temperature is rising, cooling cycles struggling to keep up as the misaligned software sends prompts faster than the body can take, and error messages appearing at the corner of his vision as he loses control. _«Markus!!!»_  white noise obfuscates his interface briefly and his voice crackles with static even throughout the connection, as his lower functions register the end of the cycle and release the cleaning and cooling fluid designed to both aid the android in recovering optimal condition and give hypothetical human partners the illusion of familiarity.

 _Now_ Markus is glad involuntary noises don’t carry through. He’s breathing heavily because the internal cooling cycle just _isn’t enough_ , chest heaving as he leans almost his entire body weight against the door and struggles to keep thoughts of what he just listened to out of his mind.

 _«Can you still hear me, Connor? Are you… feeling any better?»_ he has to ask, he _has_ to make this about the other’s well-being, otherwise he’ll feel forever guilty for indulging himself and getting aroused to the sound of Connor pleasuring himself.

From the other end of the line, the detective hesitates. _«I… oh God, Markus, I’m so sorry—»_

His voice sounds mortified, and immediately the RK200 puts a stop to it. _«No.»_ he says, gentle but firm, _«For whatever reason, you happened to need release, and if doing this ensured your continued comfort, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Your health, physical or emotional, will_ always _have priority over whatever humanized sense of decency I could choose to cling to.»_

Hearing those words almost makes Connor go off again. He too has to take a shuddering breath, and nods to himself. Feeling bolder, perhaps spurred on by the content, sated sensation he feels after all those ancillary processes and queries have been quieted down, he speaks again. _«Okay… if you promise that… should you need it for any reason… you’ll take the same liberty without worrying about my body.»_

Markus bites at his lower lip to the point of splitting it slightly at the very thought. Tasting thirium, he tries to compose himself. _«I’ll… keep that in mind.»_

Connor accepts that as an answer, and they decide to end the call, so the RK800 can go grab some new clothes and Markus himself can return to the rest of his evening…

…still, he spends the next fifteen minutes leaning against the front door and minutely shutting down most of the sensory prompts that keep popping up over and over. It takes a while to get his own arousal under control, but he manages to get back in without looking like he just got left high and dry.

He hopes Lieutenant Anderson won’t catch onto why he’s going to take a freezing shower –why he even _needs_ one— or the following conversation will be… quite awkward.

The things you do for love.


	4. As luck would have it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No offense to your beautiful and exotic eyes, Markus, but I’m not gonna miss this.” Connor remarks, tapping against his temple.
> 
> The other fixes an amused stare on him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP.  
> THERE WE HAVE IT.
> 
> I'm a cruel, cruel tease.  
> But I'm not completely heartless, so I'll start a poll rigt here, right now:  
> who wants a bonus chapter with the smut, _and_ a visit to Carl afterwards? With fluffy, mushy family feelings?
> 
> Either way. Gosh.  
> I hopes this lives up to the hype from last chapter.  
> I certainly enjoyed writing it.
> 
> ...pls love me ♥
> 
> And don't worry, there's more RK1000 content coming regardless of wther we get the bonus for this or not! ;)

 

Markus does his best to avoid making things awkward the following day. He stays in touch as normal, talks to Connor about the self-repair progress and about Hank and how he’s doing… he behaves like nothing at all changed between them after that call.

Truth is, something might have. Under the freezing pray of the shower, Markus took the time to analyse the events and what may have spiked Connor’s emotion to the point of sexual arousal; and… even considering the mitigating variables –it’s _his_ body Connor is inhabiting, it’s _him_ that’s been in constant contact with ever since the whole thing started, it’s _him_ that Connor has come to for guidance about the emotions and sensations he struggled so much to understand ever since waking up— fact remains that reciprocation is a possibility, now.

At the very least, Connor likes him well enough to find his body and his voice sexually stimulating.

But of course, he has _no idea_ on how to approach the subject with the RK800 himself.

Swallowing his pride, he thinks it might be time to ask Lieutenant Anderson for advice –he’ll have to choose his word carefully because he will _not_ disclose their very private episode to one soul, but the Lieutenant could have advice on how to talk to Connor without having him run.

Checking his internal clock, Markus figures it’s a good enough time to wake the man up.

Hank’s house is much smaller than Carl’s, but once you know the person who lives in it it’s warm and cozy regardless –even with the decidedly less luxurious materials for curtains or sheets, it’s so undeniably lived in that it makes the RK200 _smile_ even to just look at the mess one single person can make.

Sumo, big hairy drool factory that he is, doesn’t help in the keeping anything tidy department, but he gets a pass because he’s so cute. Markus shakes his head and leans down to pet the dog a little, before heading for the kitchen –Hank insist that he doesn’t have to ‘play chef’, but he’s come to know that, left to his own devices, the Lieutenant won’t cook for himself.

He hard-boiled the eggs rather than frying them; and replaced the bacon with ham –still tasty, less greasy. Then he went out and got some fruit to slice and put on the side, and made sure to make some nice, hot coffee. Taking the one tray he managed to find among the crockery and setting it on the table, Markus then silently makes his way into Hank’s room.

It feels familiar, and it makes him miss Carl even more. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

Hank rolls slightly in his bed but doesn’t budge.

Huh. Not a light sleeper, then.

The RK200 bites back a smile and has to refuse all the mischievous options for rude awakenings that get suggested, and just goes to pluck the coffee cup from the table to bring it all the way to Hank’s bedside –despite not having a particularly acute sense of smell, humans will react positively to smells they consider good and familiar. “Good morning, Lieutenant!” he repeats, slightly louder.

Anderson jumps minutely as he startles awake. “What the—” he blinks at Markus, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee does keep him in a good mood. “Jesus… good fucking morning, kid.”

“I know it is slightly earlier than your usual time, but I believe I’ve found a suitable compromise between my idea of a proper breakfast and yours.”

Hank sits up in the bed and reaches out a hand. “Just give me the coffee and I’m good.”

“You won’t regret staying for the rest, I promise.” Markus hands the cup over and sits on the edge of the mattress while the man takes a first, blissful sip. Waiting for Hank to actually be a little more awake, he eventually adds: “I had also hoped to use this extra time to talk to you.”

Contrary to his expectations, Hank can _immediately_ tell: “Fuck’s sake, is this about you and Connor?” the android’s stunned silence is apparently enough to confirm the Lieutenant’s suspicions, and he asks a different question, gesturing with his cup: “Is there more where this came from?”

“Yeah, I brewed a whole pot—”

“Good, I’m gonna need it.”

At least the man does get up to follow Markus in the dining room.

“Now.” He says, even as he appreciates the smell of breakfast, “What’s up?”

Several dialogue options pop up, but Markus filters out all the ones that would reveal way too much. “Connor and I… talked a bit yesterday… and I’ve come to realize that, maybe, my… feelings, might not be as unrequited as I thought.”

Hank smirks around a mouthful of eggs and ham, but he does have the decency to swallow before talking. “Huh. So _that’s_ what was so private that you had to go have your little chat out on the porch…”

The mere mention of what transpired is enough to make the RK200 avert his gaze. “Well— sort of.” He starts, fingers nervously tip-tapping on his right knee, “The thing is… I don’t know how much of it is wishful thinking on my part, and I don’t know how to breach the subject to Connor.”

The Lieutenant sighs and downs the rest of his coffee before setting down the cup with a resolute expression: “Let me tell you something about that kid.” He says, “He keeps to himself more than you’d think he does. If you’ve got an _inkling_ that he might like you, chances are that he’s absolutely fucking crazy about you, and hasn’t told you because you’re— well, you.”

“I’m ‘me’?” Markus echoes, confused.

“Jesus Christ, you should hear the way he talks about you when you’re not there.” Hank gripes, shaking his head, “Actually, scratch that, he did call you the ‘symbol of hope and freedom for all android kind’ to your face, didn’t he? He doesn’t put you on the same level as everyone else, if I know him half as well as I think I do –and I know him pretty fucking well— there’s a strong chance he’s catalogued you into some kind of untouchable place that doesn’t even _fathom_ you having feelings for the ‘little people’.”

Markus has always known other androids tend to idealize him, but didn’t think about the possibility of someone as extraordinary as Connor to be among them. “I… he shouldn’t put me on that kind of pedestal, I’ve never thought of him as anything less than an equal…”

“Yeah but see, here’s the thing: you’re the first one to ever do that for him.” At least straight away, Hank doesn’t say, guiltily recalling his initial treatment of Connor, “He’s not used to people valuing him just for being him, rather than the uses he can have.” He finishes off his breakfast thoughtfully, actually leaning over to make Markus look at him in the eye. “If you want to let him know you’re sweet on him, you’re gonna have to spell it out for him, really _go for it_.”

That seems plausible, but it exposes the flank to a whole array of rejections the RK200 isn’t sure he’ll be able to take. Still, Hank says his chances are looking good. He allows himself a mischievous smile. “I would’ve thought you wouldn’t be so keen on helping me get all up close and personal with your son.”

Anderson huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well.” He gives Markus a long, calculated look. “Knowing what I know, you’re probably the best person Connor could choose to be with.”

The RK200’s face brightens to the point of making him look childlike to Hank’s eyes, as he beams at him with wide eyes. “Thank you.”

“Ah, anytime, ki—”

“I mean thank you for saying ‘person’, rather than ‘android’.”

Not expecting that even remotely, Hank’s words choke up in his throat. He never thought that the simple reality of being a person, something he’ taken for granted his entire life, would make such a difference for someone else –no human would _need_ the validation of being called a person, it’s a concept inseparable from the word itself… but androids never had that before; and now they smile and feel surprised and happy, for something that should be the norm. “Yes, well.” He has to clear his voice not to sound like a complete sap, “You’re both.”

Markus keeps the smile on his face the whole way to the station.

The rest of the day is quite boring, reports and follow-up cases, but the contents of some of those reports cements into Markus the thought that he could never bear to do this.

_—Male, 34, kills wife by stabbing her with a screwdriver._

_—Male, 22, shoots both parents over drug-related dispute._

_—Female, 35, drowns infant son after giving birth alone under a bridge._

And so forth and so on. Some of these people may have their reasons, desperation, extreme poverty, or what have you, but Markus cannot fathom how anyone could kill in cold blood, especially someone close to them. He feels a renewed wave of appreciation for Connor, for dealing with things like these every day.

 _»_ _Motor functions:_ ۷ _95.8% - **calibration advisable**._

Goddamn, he will not miss this part. He leans back in his seat with a huff and gets the quarter out. He’s gotten better at it, and his temporary body cuts him some slack at 99.4%.

He wonders how Connor is doing. _«Am I the only one going stir-crazy, here?»_

 _«I’m in a room full of people we just had to explain that yes, the inviolability of the person is a concept for androids even though we do have spare parts. For the third time_ today _.»_ The reply is so fast that Markus is inclined to think the RK800 was looking forward to a call. _«Whatever frustration you’re feeling, I win. Unless you’ve met Detective Reed.»_

Markus smirks at the name. _«Oh, him?»_ he asks nonchalantly, _«He came to spout some nonsense at me on the very first day, but we had a… little chat. He’s been a meek little kitten ever since.»_

Silence stretches over the call. One second. Two, three. _«Are we talking about the same person?»_

_«Detective Gavin Reed, Caucasian, brown hair, brown eyes, usually unshaven in a sad attempt at looking bigger and badder than he actually is?»_

Yeah, that’s him. _«Markus, I thought you were a pacifist!»_ though, to be fair, Gavin Reed would probably manage to get Mother Theresa to clock him in the teeth.

 _«There wasn’t any fight, Connor. We just talked.»_ Markus assures, clearly laughing at Connor’s disbelief. _«Well… I talked, mostly. He shut up and sat back down.»_

_«Whatever you did, I want you to teach me.»_

The RK200 has to rein in both his amusement and a sudden wave of arousal at a rogue thought – _oh, there’s so much I would just_ love _to teach you—_ and he clears his voice before speaking again into the call. _«He shouldn’t bother you ever again, but sure, yeah. Happily. It’s something you already kind of know how to do, it’s just a matter of sharpening your words to the right point.»_

They keep sending each other light hearted jabs throughout the whole afternoon, and Markus keeps thoughts of Connor to the back of his mind all the way to the evening.

_» Self-repair progress check…_

_» …_

_» **Biocomponent #465B02:** 89.2%. **Biocomponent #465C04:** 91%._

_» **Estimated completion time:** d01.h13.m25.s05; 04; 03; 02…_

He sighs under the shower spray. Thank whatever powers that be that this will be all over soon. Connor was right, emotional instability is a pain in the ass –he’s started struggling with some particular impulses, the most prominent ones being anger and arousal; and his reaction time and magnitude is also way off –he jumps when startled, turns sharply if something catches his attention… not ideal by a long shot.

It will be all over soon. They will have their sparring match the day after tomorrow.

And _oh_ , is he looking forward to that. He’s run several calculations over who would win, each time factoring in different parameters… he’s currently residing in the most advanced, stronger and faster body, but Connor has a near-equal asset in terms of physicality and a fully combat-oriented set of skills.

It’ll definitely be hard fought, and he will have to be on his toes or Connor will most definitely _kick his ass_.

There it is again, that goddamn instinctive reaction. It might be time to admit that he’s got a bit of a thing about danger and dangerous people. Several prompts start up and… he’s already naked and showering, he can’t quite bring himself to shut them down… then the definite nail in the coffin comes from none other than the subject of his fantasies:

_«Hey, is this a bad time?»_

Markus can’t, for the life of him, hide what he’s feeling from his voice. _«Define ‘bad time’.»_

He knows Connor realized exactly what’s happening, and it’s a flood of shivers going straight to his lower functions when the RK800 doesn’t shy away from the moment – _now_ he gets why Connor wanted to hear his voice. _«…what are you doing right now, Markus?»_

 _«I’m standing naked under the shower and was just contemplating the idea of touching myself.»_ Markus doesn’t even attempt to hide it –he would have been horrifyingly embarrassed about it three days ago, but he now knows that Connor at the very least understands how it feels to have so little control that these sensations just creep up on you; and will use to him the same courtesy that he himself received.

 _«If you were hesitating on my behalf… please, go right ahead.»_ The detective says indeed, gentle and just this side of bashful, _«Do you want me to leave you to your privacy, or…?»_

Biting at his lips, Markus makes a leap of faith. _«I… won’t mind if you want to stay.»_ He can later rationalize it with allowing Connor to make sure that he doesn’t do anything the RK800 would feel uncomfortable with.

 _«It’s okay, Markus, really… I trust you.»_ he instantly breathes out a laugh at Connor’s words –evidently, his reasoning is quite easy to deduce. It would after all be the only plausible reason for Markus to even make that offer.

Even so, he feels like he should… reciprocate what Connor unknowingly gave him. _«So do I.»_ he says, deliberately letting free all of his arousal as he brings his hands up under the water, then places one against his neck and brings the other down in a slow caress.

And he does trust Connor, with his life –has trusted him with it multiple times. When the RK800 confessed to him about the Zen Garden and the attempted takeover he was in a panicked frenzy, and yet the only thing Markus could think about was ‘fuck that’s hot’. He did help Connor delete any and all traces of the Amanda program, as a matter of safety if nothing else, but still. There’s something about being in love with a person that could quite easily clasp a hand around your neck and snap it that just sends sparks flying underneath Markus’ synthetic skin.

_«I’ll keep you company, then.»_

There. He made a choice.

Markus feels like his thirium pump regulator could catch on fire. He thanks any higher power existing that Hank went out for the evening walk with Sumo, and he does have some time on his hands.

Speaking of which, one grips himself and starts working his length, the other all but slams into the tiles in front of him as he bows his head, letting the water hit the nape of his neck.

Even the feeling of his hair –Connor’s hair— getting heavy with water and sticking to his temples serves as a further spur forward. His LED is probably frantically flashing yellow, and even that makes him think –it would be so easy to _tell_ , even if he tried to hide it, while in this body…

He starts going faster. _«I’m still here…»_ he says, not really having the presence to say anything else.

 _«So am I, Markus. I can hear you.»_ Connor really can’t, not _everything_ , but goddamn he would want to, now. Sweet mercy, it’s torture to only have the awareness that they’re still connected in the perfect silence when he _knows_ the very one he’s been lusting after so long is aroused and exposed for him.

The distant, barely-there white noise given by the sound of the shower spray filtering into Markus’ sound unit just makes it harder. The RK800 clasps a hand on his chest, closing his fist around the fabric of his shirt. He can do this. He can do this _without_ making it about himself. His internal clock registers the seconds, they turn into minutes; five, ten, twelve… _«Are you still there, Markus?»_

The reply just about floors him: _«Almost…»_

Connor never thought his own voice could sound arousing to his ears, but knowing there’s Markus behind it, he almost loses his composure right then and there. He bites at his lips harshly, trying desperately to keep his own thoughts and desires at bay, but he eventually can’t resist: _«Let me hear, Markus. Let me listen to you.»_

Yet again, Markus proves himself capable of feats other androids wouldn’t be capable of. Connor can _hear_ him gasp at his words, dissolving into a broken moan. He must have matched his wireless messaging to his voicebox, synching them so that whatever gets out of his lips also goes through to the call.

Gods above, it’s glorious. Every little gasp and grunt as Markus picks up the speed, until he finishes with a choked “Ah—”, white noise clouding his interface and instability messages blaring all over until the cycle is over and done and he comes down from his climax.

Senses restored and emotional levels under control again, the RK200 turns off the tap and leans his back against the shower box. _«I… thank you for that, Connor.»_

 _«I’m not sure you should be the one thanking me.»_ the detective remarks, voice steady but still an octave lower than his usual, _«There probably was a line somewhere that we both decidedly stumbled over.»_

Markus nods to himself, closing his eyes with a smile. _«Yeah. We should probably have a talk about it… later, when we have our bodies back and we’re not falling over unbalanced software.»_

_«We should.»_

There’s a shadow of something, in Connor’s voice, that the RK200 can’t quite place –like a doubt. Connor, the indomitable detective and hunter that never backs down from danger is feeling _insecure_.

Reciprocation is _definitely_ a possibility. _«In the meantime, for what it’s worth… I consider you a person very dear to me and nothing you ever say will make me respect you any less.»_

 _«Markus, I… I think the same of you.»_ Understatement of the century, but true nonetheless.

They end the call almost reluctantly while Markus dries himself off, but Hank’s voice resounds from the front door:

“Kid, are you still in the shower?! I know I said I wouldn’t make any more jokes about that, but you’re not making it easy for me!”

Chuckling to himself, the RK200 bids Connor good night and calls out to the Lieutenant. “I’m just about done, I experienced some software instability at the worst possible moment, but I’m alright.” Without thinking, he just opens the door to at least face the man while they’re talking.

“ _Jesus,_ put some clothes on or _warn_ a guy!” Hank is taken off-guard, but then shakes his head. “Is modesty not a thing for androids?”

Markus reaches back to grab his clothes. “Yes and no. Modesty was never programmed into androids because there’s nothing to be gained for humans from it, but most of us who woke up developed at least _some_ sense of it… I’m usually under the impression that the social norm is that individuals of the same gender do not have issues with each other’s nudity.”

The Lieutenant can concede that point. “Fair enough.” He comments, shrugging, “I’m just not used to having someone around that wouldn’t catch pneumonia walking around naked. Also not used to someone else in the house in general.”

That is also true. Markus doesn’t really have a problem with either seeing or being seen, used as he was to both take care of Carl in the bathroom and rush out of his own on the few and far in-between occasions in which the painter had a coughing fit or needed urgent help, during which the idea of being unclothed had exactly zero relevance. Hank, instead, had been living alone ever since losing his young son, before Connor moved in –and Markus has the sinking feeling that Connor still cleans himself with a hose and an air compressor.

Hopefully he can convince him to change that habit, if they do manage to talk over their feelings and it ends with the two of them together.

 

“—nnor? Connor!”

“Yes, I can hear you Simon, I was just saying goodbye to—” the RK800 stops himself short of saying the name; irrationally worrying, for a moment, that Simon could have heard the call or even just the things he was saying to Markus. “…I’m sorry, this whole thing is still making me lag sometimes.”

The PL600 smiles knowingly at Connor, leaning against the piano. “Not very easy, is it?”

It is a bit much –the eyes of the world constantly on him, androids looking up to him, some worshipping him like a literal god, the expectations, the worries… even without his feelings thrown into the mix, it’d be quite the hard environment to adapt to. “I’m very grateful for all the help from all of you. I’d have never survived this on my own— I actually still have to thank Josh for saving my body…”

“Don’t mention it.” Simon assures, “Markus would have disassembled Josh piece by piece if he didn’t get to you in time.” The RK800 has a hard time imagining Markus getting that violent with anyone, and his friend also realizes the absurdity of it and corrects himself: “Or maybe not, because it _is_ Markus, but… shit would have gone down.”

The implication here being that Markus cares quite a lot about him. Which, well… is not that far-fetched, considering their fearless leader had been ready to delete himself; and in light of their recent… escapades, there’s definitely something _more_ going on here. Then Connor’s mind goes back to the other day, during the lunch break visit: North’s face as Hank made his crass jokes, Simon’s silent conversation with Markus, Josh just being exasperated at their antics.

They _know_. Simon, Josh and North know the exact extent of whatever it is Markus feels for Connor.

He wants to ask _so bad_.

But it will be for the better if he and Markus sort this out themselves. With a remarkable effort, he refrains. “I know we haven’t had the best of starts, but…” for the first time when they’re in a room alone, Connor looks up to meet Simon’s eyes without being haunted by images of Daniel. “I really do care about him. And I’m trying my best to support our people until he can come back.”

It seems the right thing to say –Simon chuckles and steps forward, making Connor instinctively stand up as well.

The RK800 didn’t expect to be pulled into a hug, but it’s quite soothing. “I know. All of us do.” Simon says, and _wow,_ he gives _great_ hugs. “We’re lucky to have you, Connor.”

What a novel feeling. To be accepted and appreciated, simply because he’s here and cares.

Dangerous circumstances notwithstanding, this week into a switched body opened Connor’s eyes to a whole lot of new truths.

 

They meet in Jericho again for the ‘test run’. Hank goes as far as to schedule a day off for himself and ‘Connor’, citing ‘emergency maintenance’ as the reason. Fowler is not completely convinced, but considering the part both officers have played in the favourable resolution of the whole android uprising mess, he is willing to cut them some slack. Just this once.

First, both RK models are attached to a standing station to run a deep diagnostic of their systems.

Connor’s software is really no worse for the wear, aside from the compatibility and optimization issues they were already aware of and expecting. The most apparent percentage is the optical unit performance, down to 92% while Connor is inhabiting the RK200 chassis.

“No offense to your beautiful and exotic eyes, Markus, but I’m _not_ gonna miss this.” Connor remarks, tapping against his temple.

The other fixes an amused stare on him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He says, with just the slightest intake of breath as Josh and North shove wires into his shoulders and back to check him over.

Finally, the scan reports the two biocomponents fully repaired and all other functions in passable working order. The RK200 software only has a few scattered segments, but it’s nothing that the sparring match won’t take care of.

Hank gets ushered out of the room –a room that has been cleared for that very purpose and that, before the building got abandoned and repurposed as the android community haven that it is now, was a storage space. It covers quite a wide area, cement pillars dotting the place in pairs, and conveniently enough there already was cctv in place so they can step into the custodian’s little cabin and look at the whole thing.

“For the record, Markus…” Josh calls over the intercom, even as he starts the recording setting on his optical unit, “I’ve checked all the readings; and you both were incredibly lucky to have at all survived. If Connor’s upload lost even one string of data, it would have corrupted everything else’s position and he would have been left catatonic in your body, while you… you data-dumped yourself into a dying body, it’s a miracle you’re even still yourself.”

“The lesson here is _stop being a fucking martyr_ and rely on your friends some more!” North very pointedly supplies, “And _talk_ instead of making grand self-sacrificing gestures. You ass. Both of you, actually.”

Harsh, but right. During the whole recovery process and the amount of time spent even just reordering ancillary process that started up with nowhere to go, Markus had already figured out that it’s been a very close call. He still doesn’t regret it, and something in the depths of his software still has that minute spark of thrill that he can’t quite control, but knowing what he does now… he couldn’t bear to lose Connor because of his own recklessness –he probably won’t ever attempt this again.

From just in front of him, Connor looks closely at Markus’ reaction to those words, sees the twitch in his fingers and the change in the irises as they unfocus and refocus –he bites at his lower lip. Damn it, Markus, how have you kept this under wraps so long?

“We’re ready when you are.” Simon eventually says, and Markus knows he’s gonna have to be fast.

He meets his own gaze, and runs for the wall to his left –his first move is to kill the lights.

Connor hurries to try and recalibrate his eyesight for darkness, but he knows exactly why Markus did it: the RK800 model has a faster adaptation rate; and it would be so even if Markus’ optical unit hadn’t been slightly compromised. If he was in his own body and fighting Markus, he would have done the same thing.

Instead of trying to run or dodge, though, he braces for impact out of habit –if you can take it, it’s always better to parry and get a feeling of where your opponent is rather than move aimlessly in the dark. The kick aimed for his face meets his forearm instead, and he grabs at the leg to try and push Markus out of balance.

Markus doesn’t let him though, using the hold Connor has on him as a pivot to jump up and try kicking him in the face again with his other foot. Connor just barely manages to dodge it and let Markus drop to the floor instead.

Shit. His reaction time is still catching up. Half a percent less and that could have been a knockout.

For the first few minutes, Markus dominates the match, using the RK800 body’s more advanced functions to his advantage, keeping Connor on the defensive as he attacks over and over.

From the cabin, Hank can only follow the cameras once they switched to darkness vision, and holy shit, the android revolution would have turned out a lot different if these two hadn’t made friends.

Just when it looks like Connor has backed himself into a corner, though, he pre-constructs his way around Markus’ charge and leaps to the side, wall-running the two steps necessary to land behind the other and attempt a jab at his neck.

Markus takes the hit but grabs the offending hand, turns and crouches to slam his elbow into Connor’s side. The detective grits his teeth but the blow confirms it –Markus has clearly researched fighting techniques but he didn’t care to adapt them specifically to android, and he’s aiming at spots that would most definitely down a human, but are little more than a nuisance to androids: not having lungs or a spleen, an android doesn’t get winded by an elbow in the side, unless the blow hits exactly a place underneath which there’s a biocomponent close enough to the surface.

Connor’s software, instead, was implemented with a fighting style specifically adapted to hunt and disable ‘deviants’. He side-steps Markus and slams an open-palmed hit on the right side of his lower back –just shy of the worst possible spot right over the biocomponent, but only because that just got repaired and he’s being _nice_. Predictably, _that_ blow does make the other stumble and hesitate, but he’s quick to recover, turning and swiping a foot around to try and trip Connor.

He doesn’t succeed, but he gets some much needed distance as the detective has to leap back.

They size each other up for a moment, then Connor makes his next move: he charges at Markus and throws a punch, Markus grabs it but Connor lets him keep it, since his main purpose was to get close enough for contact again.

He knows his own body, after all, knows exactly where to press and push to incapacitate it –knowing your own weak spots makes it easier to protect them— and even as Markus tries to retaliate by punching him just under the sternum, Connor reaches up to his other hand for Markus’ neck, just at the juncture where it meets the jawline and the ear…

…right over the sound unit.

He essentially chokes it out, pressing his thumb against it and holding Markus by the neck with the rest of his hand. Sudden loss of sound means loss of coordination and balance, even for the most advanced prototype; and Markus lags for a quarter of a second.

It’s more than enough for Connor, and he snatches his fist free, only to turn, slam his shoulder against Markus’ chest and, with that miniscule advantage, grab him to flip him over his shoulder and onto the ground.

He wastes no time in straddling him and splaying a hand over Markus’ thirium pump.

In a lethal fight, Markus would be dead right now.

It’s no secret that both RK prototypes can be quite competitive when they put their mind into it, and yet Markus doesn’t look too sore about having just lost. Quite the contrary, if the intense stare and rising temperature detected are any indication.

“You played dirty.” Markus comment, not sounding even the least bit angry about it. Connor smirks down at him.

“I got you.”

Markus leans up to rest on his elbows, nose almost touching Connor’s. “Yes. Yes, you do.”

They stay like that for several seconds, neither quite willing to make the first move, not while staring at their own face rather than each other’s, until eventually someone clears their voice to their right.

“Well.” Josh starts while the others are still piling back into the room, not entirely able to keep a certain amusement from his voice, “Clearly you’re both fine-tuned enough to make it work and in the top possible condition. Let’s get ready for the transfer.”

Simon wastes no time in getting the emergency toolkit out as the two RK models just stand up in front of each other, at the closest possible proximity without direct touch –interfacing, even accidentally, would make a _mess_ out of things. “So, who’s going first?” the PL600 asks.

“Markus will go first.” Connor says quickly, with a tone that leaves no room for arguing. “He will upload his software calmly and cleanly back into himself, and I’ll do the data dump this time. Data-dumping doesn’t affect the hardware except for sending it briefly into shock, and my own chassis is equipped for mission files recovery anyways, so if my own data dump screws with anything in my systems there should be enough safety measures in place to protect my integrity.”

They all turn to look at Markus, even though he’s still in Connor’s body, as used as they are to him making some kind of protest or getting the last word in some way or other, some wisdom or better choice that he always seems to have in spades… but, for once, the revolution leader doesn’t make a fuss. Never once taking his eyes off his counterpart, he only utters one word. “Okay.”

North and the guys are almost shocked into stillness, but then she just sends Markus a knowing look, almost visibly rolling her eyes at him. “Well… whenever you guys want.”

Markus offers an encouraging smile to Connor. He gets an idea –just in case anything goes wrong… he wants the other to at least know the truth. It’s now or never. “Let’s do this quick, confessing my love to my own face would be too weird.” He immensely enjoys the shock flowing through his counterpart like a shockwave, and his smile grows mischievous even. “See you on the other side.” He whispers, before closing his eyes and sending the query.

_«RK200_ _core upload attempt initiated. Download core software and memories?_ _»_

Connor clenches his fists to resist the temptation to hold Markus’ hand. Of all the moments to say the word ‘love’ to him— but now only the query is blinking at him, watching and waiting. He is enough of a realist to admit that the prospect of data-dumping himself is daunting, to say the least. The idiomatic expression ‘balls of steel’ comes to his mind as he thinks of Markus doing it with no hesitation and no remorse, as a mere spur of the moment thing. He closes his own eyes and accepts the query, automatically starting the process.

Everything goes black.

“Jesus, I can’t watch this!” Hank says, turning his back to the scene, while josh, Simon and North keep on standby should anything have gone wrong.

The whole process takes 4 exact seconds. Markus’ body, having been the one subjected to the data dump, staggers and collapses towards the side, but Connor is fast to reach out and hold him up, in an almost but not quite there sideways dip. “Markus!” His voice is crackling with static and his eyesight is not quite fully focused yet, but at least he didn’t lose consciousness this time –damage sustained and stress levels might have been a factor, last week. “Markus, can you hear me?”

The RK200 doesn’t respond verbally, but one of his hands comes up to Connor’s neck, snaking gently around it and pulling his face down to meet him halfway for a kiss.

Connor doesn’t need fifteen subroutines to know what Markus’ mouth is made of –he can immediately tell it’s made _for_ him, and that’s really all he needs to know so he shuts the goddamn analytics down, for once. There’s nothing quite like tasting something that you’ve been denying yourself so long, and he takes his sweet time discovering Markus through his tongue and his touch. If there ever is a heaven for androids, Connor imagines it like this.

He’d love to keep this going, deepen it, take what he’s been so desperately wanting all this time, maybe push Markus against one of these cement pillars and finish what he started at the end of their little sparring match—

“Okay, boys, get a room or split up!”

That would be Hank. Conor chuckles against Markus’ lips. “Sorry, Hank.” He says, not sorry in the least.

The Lieutenant knows it, and just shakes his head. “You good?”

To be sure, Connor checks.

_»_ _Status: operational._

_»_ _Self-scan initiated._

_»_ _…_

_»_ _Core systems: 100%_

_»_ _Sound unit: 100%_

_»_ _Optical unit: 100%_

_»_ _Motor functions: 99.7%_

 

“Yes. All of my systems are in perfect working order.”

Hank breathes a sigh of relief. “So you’re good to come home, just like that?”

“Correct.”

“Good.” There’s something akin to hesitation in the Lieutenant’s gaze, but he eventually has to ask. “How’s Markus?”

It warms Connor’s heart that Hank has grown to like him too. Still in his arms, the RK200 answers: “My optical unit has been stuck at 99.4% functionality ever since I shoved a blue eye into my face and dented my eye-socket, but other than that I’m fine.”

 _“Goddamn it_ , kid.” Clearly, now he’s got _two_ little shits that will forever have fun with seeing just how disgusted they can make him. Despite himself, he smiles. “Well, don’t be a stranger, you hear me?”

Markus just nods, moving to lean his forehead against Connor; and Hank turns away again. “Okay, _fine_ , I can take a hint!” he grumbles good-naturedly, “We’ve got the rest of the day off anyway, so— whatever. Go to town.”

Unable to help it, Connor says it: “Oh, I intend to.”

Predictably, the Lieutenant just shouts at them that he doesn’t want to hear that particular kind of information, and a laughing and now fully awake Markus takes Connor by the hand and brings him all the way to his quarters. Josh was about to protest –they should check them over to make sure they’re completely fine, but both North and Simon stop him: they deserve their alone time after going through all that they endured, and there’s always later to yell at them and call them idiots.

Markus slows down to a halt in front of his door, making almost a ritual out of carefully opening it, ushering Connor inside, and letting it close behind his back.

“You know… I was really looking forward to switching back.” He says, finally feeling right about the tone and pitch of his whisper. Connor is already crowding his space, hands splayed on the door at either side of his hips.

“Why’s that?” the RK800 asks, knowing there’s something specific the other wants to tell him.

Markus bites at his lower lip as he finally can stare deeply into those big brown eyes that can go from honey warm to stone cold in split seconds. “…because I wanted the legs wrapping around your waist to be my own.”

“ _Holy shit,_ Markus.” How to even resist such a declaration? Connor doesn’t care to find out, grabbing at the other’s waist to heave him up and slam him against the goddamn door.

Catching onto Connor’s intention, the RK200 puts his money where his mouth is and does exactly what he said he would, hooking his ankles together behind his Connor’s lower back and bucking his hips up slightly in an unmistakable kind of invitation.

It’s definitely gonna be a while before either of them emerges from that room.

Absently, the RK800 spares a thought of thanks to Carl, who spurred him on about following his instinct and revealing his feelings: this reality is definitely better than any wishful imagery he ever thought of –lost as he was in his romantic side, he never really factored in the chance that Markus might like it _rough_.

And _oh,_ he _can_ do rough. Afterwards they’re probably gonna hold each other and Markus himself will wax poetry at him about the fine line between chance and predestination, but for now…

“Come on, _detective_. You can do better than this…” Markus tugs insistently at the belt of his trousers with his one free hand, considering the other has just got pinned against the doorframe by Connor, “Or are you all talk?”

Connor all but growls into his neck. “You did _not_ just say that.”

“I believe I just did.” The RK200 smiles to himself, tilting his head to give his lover more access.

“You will _eat_ those words.”

It’s incredibly amusing to Markus that their bedroom talk is basically smack talk. “ _Bring it_.”

As far as first times go, it’s probably gonna get messy –having intercourse while standing up and leaning against a door is probably one of the least comfortable ways of doing it, but neither of them cares; and through all the witty banter thrown back and forth tenderness still manages to poke its way in and the phrase ‘I love you’ may or may not be passed between them in hushed whispers.

But that’s only for them to know –and they’re only just getting to the _good_ part anyway.


	5. Bonus - In for the long run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, I may be a pacifist, but I’ll wait until I die before I take it lying down.”
> 
>  
> 
> _«There is one thing you took lying down, love.»_
> 
>  
> 
> _«And still I made you work for it.»_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LO AND BEHOLD. BY POPULAR DEMAND, WE HAVE THE BONUS CHAPTER!
> 
> Part two of "In for a wild ride" is coming soon, and after that there's YET MORE RK1000 prompts I have to carry out, so nobody will be left wanting. ♥
> 
> We've got everything here, we've got smut (I hope it's halfway decent, I tried really hard -pun very much intended), we've got fluff with Carl, and we even got extra Hank at the end!
> 
> ...man, I may or may not have had too much fun with this.  
> I hope it's a good epilogue ;)
> 
> pls love me ♥

 

The feeling of Markus easily giving into him despite proving he could fight him toe to toe just minutes ago is intoxicating for Connor. And even as the RK200 _lets him_ rip his clothes open and assault his body with kisses and bites, he also keeps _goading_ him, like he _wants_ things to go fast, hard and messy.

“Here, let me make this even easier for you…” Markus says, undoing Connor’s belt the rest of the way and making a show of slowly tugging it off and throwing it on the floor, “Look— no hands.” He very deliberately lifts his free hand above his head, close enough to the place where Connor was already pinning his other one against the door that the RK800 instinctively opens his own hand to accommodate for catching both wrists in it.

 _Fuck, this is hot_.

Having Markus, the leader of the android revolution, the first of their people to actually, actively _fight_ for freedom, here at his _literal mercy_ sends Connor for a power trip he didn’t think he had in him. And it’s all the more mind-blowing to see that even though he _does_ give himself up, he still won’t go down without a fight. The RK800 leans forward, further pressing his lover against the door and diving into the crook of his neck to bite down –it won’t leave a mark, not unless he manages to dent the polymer with his teeth, but it does elicit a breathy laugh from Markus.

“I should have known you’re a _biter_ , fuck.”

“ _Stop_ fucking saying things like that—” his cooling cycles are already struggling to the point he’s had to take a breath or two, the sensations and responses elicited by Markus’ proximity, his touch, his words, his… everything, making Connor light up harder than a livewire; and this side of Markus, the one that smack-talks, that doesn’t play nice and _doesn’t_ hold back, makes him absolutely crazy.

And it spurs him on twice as much, because it’s just for him.

“…or what? You’ll _cuff_ me?”

Mother of _fuck_ , Markus. Connor thinks his companion might have a _thing_ with danger and the idea of literally fucking with authority, which is… not entirely unexpected, but still feels like someone peeled is artificial skin back and sent an electric shock through his chassis, to hear him say things like that. There’s really only one thing he can do: “If you keep being a _bitch,_ I just _might_.”

The reaction is instantaneous: Markus’ hips buck into him at his words— rationally, the RK200 knows Connor can’t really handcuff him, because he doesn’t have a set of handcuffs on him, but… the fact that he _would_ sends all the right kind of tingles running down his spine.

They’ve both realized early on that they’ll have to step away from the door to safely take their clothes off, but Markus has been keeping his legs securely wrapped around the RK800’s waist and his shoulder pushed firmly against the door for balance, just to drag this out a little more and see whether he can get Connor’s processes hyped up enough to get slammed onto the floor or if he’ll have to push at the hips, straddle the detective and just ride him into next week.

Now _that’s_ a thought. Markus smirks, even as he briefly tilts his head up to give Connor more room to attack his neck –the detective probably won’t like being thrown on the bottom, but… Markus looks forward to him going ahead and try to get back in charge.

Using the support of his shoulders against the door, Markus further tightens his legs around his lover’s waist, bringing his hips up and his ankles down, forcing Connor to slightly tilt backwards at the waist; and then he pushes down hard, making the both of them fall with a rough _thump_ to the floor as he finds himself exactly where he wants to be: on Connor’s lap, with the RK800 looking up at him in arousal, fury and affection all mixed together.

“You—” Connor doesn’t get to speak, because Markus catches his lips in a bruising kiss. Then he moves onto his jawline, then his neck as he unbuttons the crisp white shirt. Markus kisses, licks and nibbles his way down Connor’s chest and abdomen while the detective can only claw desperately at his nape with the realization of what’s about to happen.

It was obvious even before the RK200 decides to use his teeth to undo the fly of his jeans –that’s _not_ a skill they put in standard protocols. Markus is going to suck him off here, on the floor of his room, and the door is not even locked.

_» Core temperature rising. Cooling cycles at maximum speed. Oxygen intake advised._

Connor takes a long, shuddering breath.

Then Markus takes him into his mouth and his touch sensors make him see stars –he idly wonders: has Markus done this before? With their particular processing speed and capacity it takes less than a second to research sexual activities and get a technique down, so even if he hasn’t it’s not entirely surprising that he seems to know what he’s doing—

Connor’s thought process gets derailed into just _yes_ and _more_ , as Markus moves up and down and he realizes the RK200 is _not_ fighting against the hand tugging behind his head.

He’s fucking Markus’ mouth at a pace humans would be outraged at, and Markus is just taking it like a pro.

But that isn’t where he wants this to end, so even though it’s torture Connor tugs his lover away from his cock and heaves him back up onto his lap to lock eyes with him. “You didn’t think you’d get off so easy, did you?” he whispers, barely holding it in as he sees Markus bites his lips and send a look of pure hunger at him.

“I thought _I_ was the one getting _you_ off easy.”

“Nice try, but no dice.” It’s all Connor says, before bringing his free hand to grab Markus by the shoulder and then bucks up and to the side –essentially flipping them over but staying firmly situated in between the RK200’s legs.

“Finally!” Markus’ voice is slightly broken up in static as he feels his back slam onto the floor and Connor come at his front, a familiar and arousing weight.

The detective doesn’t lose time in trying to be cute about undressing Markus: “How fond are you of these jeans?”

“I have _crawled_ out of a junkyard. You tell me.”

The sound of ripping fabric echoes along with Markus’ laughter.

Connor’s lower functions have already started releasing some cooling fluid, despite the intercourse cycle not nearly being over –his temperature got so high at one point that a few error messages came and went… it’s messy, but it’ll make things smoother and easier in terms of holding Markus down and fucking him like it’ll bring rA9 down to them.

And at least it’s nowhere near as disgusting as human intercourse.

Markus’ back nearly arches clean off the floor when Connor enters him. “ _Connor_ —”

The RK800 closes his eyes at the sound – _God,_ how long had he wished to hear Markus say his name like that? He’s not quite sure he can tell. Maybe from last week, when he realized truly how deep his feelings went… maybe since the march on Detroit, when he found this astounding creature, beauty and beast in one, _alive_ and _waiting for him_ … or maybe, in a primal sort of way, he was wondering about how it would feel to hold down the rebel leader and fuck him until he caved ever since he had him at gunpoint in that rusty, old boat.

And it drives him crazy that maybe, just maybe, the same goes for Markus.

He barely just started and already he’s thrusting into Markus hard enough that he sees the other’s shoulders rock back and forth, but judging from the _sounds_ coming from the RK200’s lips, he’s not complaining in the least.

“Connor— _fuck—_ I—” his voice comes and goes in gasps, sometimes getting distorted with static, and Connor cannot get enough of it.

“Markus…” Connor is basically plowing him into the floor at a merciless rhythm, and yet he can’t keep the sheer adoration from his voice, nor can he keep his lips away from Markus’ mouth too long, as he leans forward to kiss him even as he holds the RK200 down at the wrists.

“Say my name again…” It’s a whisper against the RK800’s lips and he smirks –they’re more similar than one would think at first sight.

Just this once, he obliges. “Markus…” he mutters, taking a bite at that pouty, taunting lower lip before he leans back slightly even as he keeps on driving into him. He braces one hand against Markus’ shoulder for support and starts going faster and harder still.

The response from Markus’ sensory functions is immediate and feels like fire under his polymer skin— he dissolves in gasps, moans and broken calls of Connor’s name.

Anyone in the general vicinity can hear them, and the thought just sends the RK800 into more of a frenzy.

He’s close.

Using the one that’s not holding down his lover’s body, he takes Markus in his hand and starts working the length at the same pace he’s fucking him with.

 _“Connor—_ ”

Markus tries to lean up to kiss him, but the RK800 has a spur of the moment instinct and shifts his grip.

He feels Markus come underneath him with a call of his name as he holds him down by the neck.

It doesn’t take long for Connor to completely lose control of his lower functions and come apart at the seams as well, after that.

They stay like that for a little while, chests heaving to speed up recalibration and waiting for their minds to clear out all the erratic subroutines.

Once his interface clears and his thought are not scrambled anymore, Connor realizes exactly what he just did and panics slightly –he could have _hurt_ Markus. They’d just got out of a potentially damaging situation and the first thing he did was slam the other around like a rag doll and fuck him into oblivion with no remorse and no restraint.

“Markus, I’m so—” he doesn’t get to apologize in time. Markus grabs the hand he was just retracting from his neck, and laces their fingers together.

The interfacing prompt is a soft ‘ping’ at the corner of Connor’s vision. Accepting it is not even a question, and it’s suddenly a flood of emotions he was not prepared for. He can _feel_ what Markus is feeling as if it came from within him, and it’s… astounding to even think about.

He had always thought Markus was on a whole different plane of existence compared to other androids, only really starting to appreciate him as an individual first rather than a concept _after_ he realized the RK200 is not quite as immune to physical impulses as he seemed to the untrained eye; but never in a million years Connor would have thought that this heavenly mix of peaceful and wild, gentle and raw, would think of _him_ as someone extraordinary and feel attracted enough to want to hold him close and keep him there.

But it’s more than that –it’s not just the pull of attraction, by a long shot. He feels it: they’re kindred spirits, teetering on the edge between the clean-cut world of rules and appearances and the messy sludge of hard-fought, dirty work. And it’s all there, the respect, the admiration…

_«I love you.»_

Yeah, that too.

Connor’s eyes widen and he breaks the interfacing without meaning to. He searches for Markus’ gaze. “…you do?”

“Yes, Connor.” The RK200 is back to the gentle, affectionate side of him, as he smiles lovingly at the other, mismatched eyes alight in happiness and warmth, “I love you.” He says, using his actual voice.

It’s in that moment that Connor realizes that no one ever said those words to him –he had always been just a means to an end, an expendable asset to accomplish a task. He was never made to be _loved_. And yet, ever since deviating, he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel, to be cherished and held dear by someone. Not just as family, but as a piece of one’s soul, to have someone say that they couldn’t live without him.

However thrilling the feeling of shoving the RK200 into the floor and fucking him raw had been, it doesn’t hold a candle to the realization of such a monumental truth: Markus _loves_ him.

Connor hugs him at the shoulders, leaning down to rest his forehead on Markus’ bare chest –lips resting over his thirium pump. “I love you too, Markus.” He whispers, straight into his lover’s heart.

Markus laughs, soft and carefree and it feels like a healing balm on the RK800’s soul as he speaks on the tail end of that chuckle: “In hindsight, it should have probably been obvious back when you took two bullets for me and I tried to delete myself to save you in return.”

“Well, you know what they say about hindsight.” Connor feels his own laughter bubbling up and, soon enough, they’re both laughing –still half-naked and lying on the floor as they are.

Neither of them cares: it feels right, it makes them feel _alive_.

It feels like they are free.

 

 _«Alarm deactivated. Welcome home, Markus.»_ he closes his eyes with a sigh at the familiar greeting, and Connor chuckles at his side.

“Feel better?” he asks with a knowing smile.

Markus returns it as the house system identifies Connor and welcomes him as a guest. “ _Much_ better.”

The RK200 all but runs for the studio when he sees the door open and the curtains drawn open. He stops short at the entrance, holding in the urge to go and pick up his father off the wheelchair. “Hello, Carl.”

Carl turns to look at the both of them with a surprised smile. “Markus!” he exclaims, then looking to the side, “And… Connor, yes? That _is_ you, is it?”

Suddenly bashful at being seen as he truly is, Connor shrinks slightly in the shoulders and nods.

The painter beckons the both of them closer with a gesture of his arm. “Come on, now, none of that, son.” He urges, “Let me hear you real voice.”

Like father, like son. The RK800 can’t hold back the grin stretching on his lips. “Hello, Carl.”

It takes all of five minutes for Markus to end up sitting cross-legged on the floor by his father’s side, while Connor leans against one of the studio’s tables close by and they’re all chatting like they’ve been doing this forever. “May I ask you a question, Carl?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“How were you able to tell I wasn’t Markus?”

The painter turns to look at his android son briefly; and they share a smile as Carl then turns to Connor to answer: “Your comment about thirium –Markus can be a little shit when he wants to, but he knows better than to offer me the chance to give _him_ flak about food.” He explains, amusement lacing his voice, “Also, you tensed a little bit about having me hold your face. Markus knows all too well how touchy-feely his old man can be.”

Impressive, considering Carl’s age and what else his brain must be going through all the time –physical pain related to his condition, fatigue, emotional distress… through all of that, he still has an intellect and an intuition sharp enough to see someone’s _soul_  and tell it apart from their face.

Then Markus clicks his fingers and looks up at the RK800. “Right! You never did tell me what you ended up painting!”

“I… don’t suppose Carl kept it…” Connor says meekly, embarrassment crossing his features slightly –nevermind that he doesn’t consider himself a very good painter, it was a portrait of Markus well before they first crossed the line into their desire for each other.

“I keep anything that has a spark of life.” Carl assures instead, “It’s right over there.”

Markus gets up to go take it and Connor instinctively stands up with him. “It’s— really not that great.”

“You don’t mind if I have it, then?” the RK200 asks instead, lifting his hands to brush them against Connor’s, “It’s okay. I can show you _my_ first painting to make it even.”

Eventually he caves, but Markus’ face when he sees the painting is far from being judgmental or even just amused. The painting itself is unremarkable in terms of technique, but the colors, the feeling running underneath each brushstroke and the definite intensity of the colors chosen for his eyes… all of it speaks of _love_ and Markus can tell. “Connor, I—” his voice chokes up slightly with static and he has to run a quick equalizer script through his voicebox, “I… really would like to keep this, if it’s okay with you.”

Connor doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he just nods an affirmative. He feels the need to lower the intensity in the air, at least in Carl’s presence, and makes a show of darting his eyes around. “So, where’s the masterpiece of the first free android painter?”

Carl feels his heart fill with laughter and affection for these two, and Connor climbs fast on his list of favorite people –he won’t be around forever, after all, and the thought that someone _will_ be there to care for Markus is immeasurably soothing to him.

Markus finds his first canvas easily even amidst the sea of paintings scattered across the studio, reaching for it and placing it up on an empty easel for Connor to see.

It’s two sets of hands, a pair blue in thirium and the other blood red, huddled together in a cupping motion as if to drink from them or to hold something close, the edges dissolving into a muted grey background of things that _don’t_ matter in the face of the truth at the forefront –whether your blood runs red or blue, you’re alive, you need and bleed and _feel_.

Empathy.

Markus has it in spades, and it shows through his paintings just as much as from his eyes.

Connor looks at it for several seconds, before he can speak. “Markus, you…” if his tales are to be believed, the RK200 painted this _before_ breaking through the red wall. “…were you ever _not_ a deviant?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” His lover answers sincerely, the shrug of his shoulders easy and relaxed, and Carl chuckles at the both of them.

“Does it matter?” the elderly painter asks –after all, what difference does a red wall make, in the face of a genuine feeling?

“…I suppose not.” Connor concedes.

They chat their way well into Carl’s lunchtime; and Markus insists to be the one cooking for old times’ sake. Carl’s current caretaker chuckles and relents, sending the RK200 his father’s current nutritional needs and setting up the table for Carl to wait at.

Not wanting to be a distraction or a nuisance, Connor stays behind to keep the elderly painter company. Eventually, Carl sends him a look he remembers receiving with a different face and asks: “So, I take it you listened to my advice?”

It’s then that it hits Connor: so far, nothing he or Markus said or did explicitly spelled that they are together. Carl only had their body language and the looks they sent each other to go with –which may or may not be quite obvious, then. “Is it that evident?”

“I know my son.” Carl says, reaching out a hand to pat Connor’s forearm, “There’s precious few things he well and truly loves, but he looks at them a certain way, it’s impossible _not_ to tell.” He explains, bringing the same hand up to pat the RK800’s cheek, “He loves everything about you. He loves your hair, he loves the way you walk, he loves every little thing you say to him.”

“Even the snark?”

“Especially the snark.”

Connor laughs along with the painter, just as Markus walks back in with a tray. “What are you telling my boyfriend behind my back, Carl?”

It doesn’t come as a surprise that Markus had no doubts about Carl knowing about them.

“I’m just preparing him for what an absolute sap you are.”

“Big talk, coming from the one who reproduced the lips of the first woman he loved in 15 separate paintings.”

“And how many of your own secretly have at least one part of Connor?”

Markus’ silence is just as incriminating as an answer would be –Connor didn’t touch Markus’ pile of many canvases during his time in Jericho, he wouldn’t have known what to do with them and was afraid of damaging them, but _damn,_ now he wants to know. “Oh? Do tell, Markus, I’m curious.” He teases, ever so slightly bumping his shoulder with the other.

The RK200 shakes his head. He can’t win with these two ganging up on him. “Okay, that’s it.” He huffs good-naturedly, setting the tray down and revealing Carl’s favorite curry. “ _You_ , eat you lunch.” He all but orders, even as he goes through the motions of putting the tower over his father’s lap and serving the plate, “ _You_ , stop sassing me.”

Connor had never experienced this type of domesticity before, but the whole experience goes into a folder that, up to now, only contained his interactions with Hank:

_»data log: family_

 

The weather is finally turning for the better, making the humans look forward to summer holidays and Markus to summer storms –he likes the rain. It’s the first thing he ever experienced as a free android, after literally clawing his way back to life. But the warm spring sun has its charm, and he walks up the stairs to the DPD station entrance with a smile to his face. Hank did say ‘don’t be a stranger’, so he probably won’t mind a visit during break.

It may or may not be a coincidence that Pauleen’s court hearing was today and they will likely know how it went. He has to go through the motions of getting identified and allowed a temporary pass by security, now that he doesn’t have Connor’s face anymore, but he doesn’t mind.

They point him in the direction of the employee kitchen, and he’s pleasantly surprised to see the Lieutenant sitting there with a packed lunch, while Connor keeps him company by leaning against the edge of the table and chatting amicably with him.

Not two meters from their table, another familiar face comes into view.

“Would you look at that?” Gavin Reed says, “Robo-Jesus himself gracing us with his holy plastic ass. You here to _convert_ us?”

Connor is by his side in less than two seconds, but Markus just arches his eyebrow at the human –Gavin stops short, a strange sense of familiarity that he can’t place hitting him just before Markus speaks. And he’s not even addressing him: “Hey, Connor. Can go somewhere else?” he nods minutely in Reed’s direction before blatantly looping his arms around the RK800’s neck, “I don’t know what problem humans have with asses, but I think this guy is hitting on me.”

Gavin is predictably outraged at the very idea, but something in the way he sputters indignantly tells Markus of a repressed side the man himself is not even remotely aware of. Connor is struck speechless at the RK200’s boldness but doesn’t stop him from leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss to his lips in front of the entire goddamn police station. “That or he’s _desperately_ compensating for something. Either way, I don’t have time for any of it.”

Hank almost chokes on his lunch with laughter as the scene unfolds before them, and Connor just holds Markus in place, turning slightly to look at the human. “You’ll excuse me Detective Reed, but I have to ask you not to make passes at my boyfriend when he comes to visit.” He says, calmly and ‘politely’, with that innocent tilt of his head that is not innocent at all, “On top of being inappropriate, it will make me _very_ protective on his behalf. It would be regrettable if things went sour.”

“I— what— boyfriend?!—” thrown for a loop by the huge influx of new and apparently shocking information, Gavin can’t even begin to feel insulted from what has just been implied. He has to blink and shake his head, turning on his heels and returning to his post. “ _Fucking_ androids.”

Hank is still laughing when Connor and Markus reach him.

“You gotta stop poking fun at his expense, kid.”

“Maybe…” Markus concedes with a knowing smile, “I’ll stop when he stops being an asshole to every android he sees.”

Anderson nods approvingly. “Fair enough. You may be at it for a while, though.”

“Well, I may be a pacifist, but I’ll wait until I _die_ before I take it lying down.”

 _«There is_ one _thing you took lying down, love.»_

_«And still I made you work for it.»_

“Hey, hey!!! No wireless telepathy shit at the table!” Hank interrupts, pointing a finger at the both of them, having seen Connor’s LED indicator go yellow. “If you want to be disgusting together, go off somewhere else!”

“I can be back in 20 minutes for—” Connor doesn’t even get to finish before the Lieutenant sends them both off with a gesture of his arm.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I _don’t_ wanna know!” he all but yells, “Go. Enjoy your date or whatever!”

They turn tail to take their leave, but Markus stops briefly to look back. “It was good to see you well, Hank.”

Hank thought he was inured to the RK200’s mannerisms and the sway he seemed to have over people… but that’s only because he was exposed to a less intense dose of Markus, mitigated through the familiarity of his surrogate son’s eyes. Now, the mix of green and blue landing smack-dab on him kind of roots the man to the spot a bit.

That is one powerful set of lookers. He clears his voice and nods. “Thanks, kid. It’s good to see you’re yourself, too.” He manages to say, and the redoubled affection on Markus’s face hits him in all the parts of his heart he thought black and dead but were already woken up by Connor’s presence in his life.

Damn it, he was not ready to have a son-in-law already.

The two androids finally get out, and Connor reaches for Markus’ hand while they walk together.

“I think you broke my dad.” He jokes, enjoying the carefree laughter that comes from his lover.

“Nah, just give him something else to be disgusted about and he’ll be good as new.”

It’s puzzling to think that just a few weeks ago neither of them ever would have imagined to be together, sharing their feelings with no shame and no constraints; while right now they couldn’t even fathom a world without loving each other… but it’s just the way things go, sometimes.

If it wasn’t their misadventure, it would have probably been something else –there’s only so much you can teeter along the edge of a pool.

Connor tightens his hand around Markus’ as he feels the RK200 ping him softly to interface.

Whatever the circumstances, he’s definitely glad he fell in, and wouldn’t give this up for the world.


End file.
